THE  NOVELS  OF 
IVAN   TURGENEV 


THE  NOVELS  OF. 

IVAN  TURGENEV 

I. 

RUDIN. 

II. 

A  HOUSE  OF  GENTLEFOLK. 

III. 

ON  THE  EVE. 

IV. 

FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN. 

V. 

SMOKE. 

VI.  &  VII. 

VIRGIN    SOIL.     2    vols. 

VIII.  &  IX. 

A  SPORTSMAN'S   SKETCHES.  2  vols. 

X. 

DREAM  TALES  AND  PROSE  POEMS 

XI. 

tHE   TORRENTS   OF   SPRING,  ETC. 

XII. 

A  LEAR  OF  THE  STEPPES. 

XIII. 

THE    DIARY    OF   A    SUPERFLUOUS 
MAN,  ETC. 

XIV. 

A  DESPERATE  CHARACTER,  ETC. 

XV. 

THE  JEW,  ETC. 

XVI. 

TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHERSTORIES. 

XVII. 

KNOCK,      KNOCK,      KNOCK,      AND 
OTHER  STORIES. 

NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON  :  WlLiLIAM  HEINEMANN 

THE  NOVELS  OF  IVAN  TURGENEV 

THE  TWO   FRIENDS 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 

TRANSLATED   FROM  THE  RUSSIAN 
By 
CONSTANCE  GARNETT  ' 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
LONDON:  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 

MCMXXI 


Copyright,  1921, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  March,  1921. 


MAIN   LIBHARY 


CONTENTS 


4S9330 


FAGS 

X 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS        ,.••»• 

FATHER    ALEXEy'S    STORY ^^S 

THREE    MEETINGS  ..•■'••  ^55 

A    QUIET   BACKWATER  ■  •  •         ■       ,  •  •  ^^7 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 
AND   OTHER  STORIES 

THE  TWO   FRIENDS 

On  one  spring  day  in  the  forties  of  last  cen- 
tury, a  young  man  of  six  and  twenty  called 
Boris  Andreyitch  Vyazovnin  arrived  at  his 
home,  an  estate  lying  in  one  of  the  provinces  of 
the  central  region  of  Russia.  He  had  just  re- 
signed his  commission  "owing  to  domestic  cir- 
cumstances," and  was  intending  to  look  after 
the  management  of  his  land.  A  praiseworthy 
idea  of  course,  but  Boris  Andreyitch  had  taken 
it  up,  as  indeed  is  usually  the  case,  against  his 
will.  Every  year  his  income  had  been  falling 
off  while  his  debts  had  been  increasing.  He 
had  become  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of 
continuing  in  the  service  and  living  in  the  capi- 
tal,— of  living  in  fact  as  he  had  lived  hitherto, 
I 


'':tB.t.TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

and,  much  against  the  grain,  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  devote  a  few  years  to  setting 
straight  those  "domestic  circumstances,"  thanks 
to  which  he  found  himself  in  the  wilds  of  the 
country. 

Vyazovnin  found  his  estate  in  disorder,  his 
fields  and  gardens  run  to  waste,  his  house  al- 
most in  ruins.  He  appointed  a  new  village  elder 
and  diminished  the  allowances  of  the  house 
serfs.  He  had  two  or  three  rooms  cleared  for 
his  own  use  and  ordered  new  shingles  to  be 
put  on  where  the  roof  leaked.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, take  any  violent  measures,  and  did  not  de- 
vise any  improvements  in  consequence  appar- 
ently of  the  simple  reflection  that  one  must,  at 
any  rate,  just  find  out  what  one  wants  to  im- 
prove. ...  So  he  set  to  work  to  understand 
the  farming  of  the  land,  began,  as  they  say,  to 
go  into  things.  It  must  be  admitted  that  he 
went  into  things  without  any  special  zeal  and 
without  haste.  Being  unaccustomed  to  country 
life,  he  found  it  very  dreary,  and  often  could 
not  think  where  and  how  to  spend  the  livelong 
day.  He  had  a  good  number  of  neighbours 
but  he  was  not  acquainted  with  them, — not  be- 

2 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

cause  he  avoided  them  but  because  he  had  not 
happened  to  come  into  contact  with  them.  But 
at  last  in  the  autumn  he  did  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  one  of  his  nearest  neighbours  whose 
name  was  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  Krupitsyn.  He 
had  once  served  in  the  cavalry  and  had  left  the 
army  a  Lieutenant.  His  peasants  and  Vyazov- 
nin's  had  had  a  dispute  from  time  immemorial 
concerning  seven  acres  of  mowing  land.  The 
quarrel  from  time  to  time  reached  the  point 
of  fighting;  cocks  of  hay  were  mysteriously 
transferred  from  place  to  place,  all  sorts  of 
unpleasant  incidents  occurred,  and  most  likely 
the  quarrel  would  have  gone  on  for  many  years 
longer,  if  Krupitsyn,  hearing  by  chance  of  Boris 
Andreyitch's  peaceable  disposition,  had  not  gone 
to  him  to  discuss  the  matter  in  person.  The 
interview  had  very  agreeable  results ;  in  the 
first  place,  the  trouble  was  settled  at  once  and 
for  ever  to  the  mutual  satisfaction  of  the  land- 
owners, and  in  the  second  place  they  were  at- 
tracted by  each  other,  took  to  meeting  fre- 
quently, and  by  the  winter  had  become  such 
friends  that  they  were  almost  inseparable. 
And  yet  they  had  little  in  common.  Vyazov- 
3 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

nin,  who  had  come  of  wealthy  parents  though 
he  was  not  himself  wealthy,  had  received  a 
good  education,  studied  at  the  University,  knew 
several  languages,  was  fond  of  reading  and  al- 
together might  be  regarded  as  a  man  of  culture. 
Krupitsyn,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  French  bad- 
ly, never  took  up  a  book  unless  he  was  obliged, 
and  belonged  rather  to  the  class  of  the  uncul- 
tivated. The  friends  had  little  resemblance  in 
appearance  either:  Vyazovnin  was  rather  tall, 
thin,  fair  and  like  an  Englishman;  he  kept  his 
person,  especially  his  hands,  faultlessly  clean, 
was  elegant  in  his  dress  and  foppish  over  his 
cravats  ...  all  habits  formed  in  the  capital! 
Krupitsyn  on  the  other  hand  was  black-haired 
and  dark-skinned,  short  and  stooping,  and  he 
went  about  summer  and  winter  alike  in  a  sort 
of  sack  overcoat  of  bronze-coloured  cloth  with 
gaping,  bulging  pockets. 

"I  like  the  colour,"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  used  to 
say,  "because  it  doesn't  show  the  dirt." 

The  colour  of  the   cloth  certainly  did  not 

show  the  dirt  but  the  cloth  itself  was  pretty 

grimy.    Vyazovnin  liked  dainty  fare  and  talked 

with  zest  of  the  charms  of  good  dinners,  and 

4 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

the  importance  of  taste;  Krupitsyn  ate  anything 
that  was  given  him,  so  long  as  it  was  something 
he  could  work  upon.  If  he  came  across  cab- 
bage soup  with  boiled  grain  he  swallowed  the 
soup  with  pleasure  and  ate  up  the  grain  that 
went  with  it;  if  he  were  offered  German  clear 
soup  he  would  fall  upon  it  with  the  same  readi- 
ness and  if  any  boiled  grain  were  at  hand  he 
would  toss  it  into  the  same  plate  and  think  it 
was  all  right.  He  loved  kvass,  to  use  his  own 
expression,  "hke  his  own  father,"  while  French 
wines,  especially  the  red  ones,  he  could  not 
endure,  calling  them  "vinegar."  Altogether 
Krupitsyn  was  very  far  from  being  fastidious 
while  Vyazovnin  took  a  clean  handkerchief 
twice  a  day.  In  short,  the  friends,  as  we  have 
said  already,  were  not  alike.  One  thing  they 
had  in  common:  they  were  both  what  is  called 
"good  fellows,"  straightforward,  good-natured 
young  men.  Krupitsyn  had  been  born  one, 
while  Vyazovnin  had  become  one.  Moreover 
they  were  both  further  distinguished  by  the 
fact  that  they  were  not  fond  of  anything  in  par- 
ticular ;  that  is,  that  they  had  no  special  passion 
5 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

or  predilection  for  anything.     Krupitsyn  was 
six  or  eight  years  older  than  Vyazovnin. 

Their  days  were  spent  rather  monotonously. 
As  a  rule,  in  the  morning,  not  very  early,  how- 
ever, only  about  ten  o'clock,  Boris  Andreyitch 
would  be  sitting,  with  a  book  and  a  cup  of  tea, 
by  the  window,  combed  and  washed,  in  a  hand- 
some dressing-gown  hanging  open  unbuttoned 
and  a  snow-white  shirt;  the  door  would  open 
and  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  in  his  usual  careless  at- 
tire would  come  in.  His  little  estate  was  less 
than  half  a  mile  from  Vyazovna  (as  Boris 
Andreyitch's  estate  was  called),  though  indeed 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  would  very  often  stay  the 
night  at  Boris  Andreyitch's. 

"Ah,  good-morning,"  they  would  both  say 
simultaneously,  "how  did  you  sleep?" 

And  at  that  point  Fedyushka,  a  boy  of  fif- 
teen dressed  like  a  Cossack,  whose  very  hair, 
bristling  like  the  feathers  of  a  ruff  in  the  mat- 
ing season,  looked  drowsy,  would  bring  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  his  dressing-gown  of  Bokhara  stuff, 
and  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  after  clearing  his  throat 
as  a  preliminary,  would  swathe  himself  in  it 
and  set  to  his  tea  and  his  pipe. 
6 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Then  talk  would  begin,  talk  without  haste, 
with  intervals  and  pauses:  they  talked  of  the 
weather,  of  yesterday,  of  the  work  of  the  fields 
and  the  price  of  corn;  they  talked,  too,  of  the 
neighbouring  landowners  and  their  ladies.  In 
the  early  days  of  his  acquaintance  with  Boris 
Andreyitch,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  had  thought  it 
his  duty,  and  had  indeed  been  glad  of  the  op- 
portunity, to  question  his  neighbour  concerning 
life  in  the  capital,  and  learning  and  culture 
generally — in  fact  concerning  lofty  subjects: 
Boris  Andreyitch's  replies  had  interested  him, 
often  surprised  him,  and  held  his  attention,  but 
at  the  same  time  they  had  brought  on  a  cer- 
tain fatigue,  so  that  all  such  conversations  were 
quickly  dropped;  and  indeed  Boris  Andreyitch 
himself  displayed  no  excessive  desire  to  renew 
them.  It  happened  later  on,  though  not  often, 
that  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  would  suddenly  ask  Boris 
Andreyitch,  for  example,  what  sort  of  thing 
the  electric  telegraph  was,  and  after  listening 
to  Boris  Andreyitch's  not  perfectly  clear  ex- 
planation, would  sit  silent  for  a  little,  and  then 
say: 

"Yes,  that's  wonderful,"  and  would  make  no 
7 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

enquiry  concerning  a  scientific  subject  for  a 
long  time  afterwards. 

For  the  most  part  conversations  between 
them  were  after  the  following  style.  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  would  inhale  the  smoke  from  his 
pipe  and  puffing  it  out  through  his  nostrils 
would  ask: 

"What's  that  new  girl  you've  got?  I  saw 
her  on  the  back  stairs,  Boris  Andreyitch." 

Boris  Andreyitch  in  his  turn  would  put  his 
cigar  to  his  lips,  take  two  puffs  at  it,  and  after 
a  sip  of  cold  tea  with  cream  would  bring  out: 

"What  new  girl?" 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  would  bend  down  a  little 
to  one  side  and  looking  out  of  the  window  into 
the  yard  where  the  dog  had  just  bitten  a  bare- 
foot boy  in  the  calf  of  the  leg  would  reply : 

"Fair-haired  .  .  .  not  bad  looking." 

"Ah!"  Boris  Andreyitch  would  exclaim, 
after  a  pause,  "that's  my  new  laundry  girl." 

"Where  does  she  come  from?"  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch would  ask  as  though  surprised. 

"From  Moscow.  She's  been  training  there." 
And  both  would  sit  silent  for  a  while. 

"How  many  laundry  girls  have  you  got  al- 
8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

together,  Boris  Andreyitch  ?"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
asks  again,  looking  attentively  at  the  tobacco 
burning  with  a  dry  splutter  under  the  charred 
ash  in  his  pipe. 

"Three,"  answers  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Three !  I've  only  one  and  there's  scarcely 
anything  for  the  one  to  do;  of  course,  as  you 
know,  we  don't  have  a  great  deal  of  washing!" 

"H'm!"  answers  Boris  Andreyitch,  and  the 
conversation  drops  for  a  time. 

The  morning  would  pass  in  such  occupations 
and  lunch  time  would  arrive.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
was  particularly  fond  of  lunch,  and  declared 
that  twelve  o'clock  was  precisely  the  time  when 
a  man  was  hungry;  and  indeed  he  ate  at  that 
hour  so  cheerfully,  with  such  a  pleasant  and 
hearty  appetite,  that  even  a  German  would 
have  been  delighted  looking  at  him :  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch lunched  so  gloriously!  Boris  Andrey- 
itch ate  far  less :  he  was  satisfied  with  a  cro- 
quette of  chicken  or  a  couple  of  scrambled 
eggs  with  butter  and  some  English  sauce  in 
an  ingeniously  made  patent  jar  for  which  he 
had  paid  a  great  deal  of  money  and  which  he 
secretly  thought  disgusting,  though  he  declared 
9 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

that  he  could  not  touch  anything  without  it. 
If  the  weather  were  fine  the  two  friends  would 
spend  the  time  between  lunch  and  dinner  look- 
ing after  farming  operations,  or  would  simply 
go  for  a  walk,  or  look  at  young  horses  being 
broken  in,  etc.  Sometimes  they  made  their  way 
as  far  as  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  estate  and  occa- 
sionally went  into  his  little  house. 

The  house,  small  and  very  old,  was  more 
like  a  plain  house  serf's  cottage  than  a  land- 
owner's residence.  Green  moss  grew  in  the 
thatched  roof  which  was  honeycombed  with  the 
nests  of  sparrows  and  jackdaws.  One  of  the 
aspen  log  walls,  which  had  originally  been 
tightly  fitted,  had  dropped  back  while  the  others 
had  shifted  to  one  side  and  sunk  into  the  earth 
— in  short,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  house  was  poor 
without  and  poor  within. 

But  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  not  depressed  by 
that;  being  a  bachelor  and  generally  unexact- 
ing  he  cared  little  about  the  conveniences  of 
life,  and  was  satisfied  with  the  fact  that  he  had 
a  little  place  in  which  he  could  at  need  find 
shelter  from  cold  and  bad  weather.  His  house 
was  managed  by  the  housekeeper,  Makedonia, 

10 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

a  middle-aged  woman,  very  zealous  and  even 
honest  but  with  an  unlucky  hand;  nothing  she 
did  succeeded — the  crockery  was  broken,  the 
linen  was  torn,  the  food  was  uncooked  or 
burnt.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  used  to  call  her 
Caligula. 

Having  a  natural  bent  for  hospitality,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  liked  to  have  visitors  in  his  house 
and  to  regale  them  in  spite  of  the  narrowness 
of  his  means.  He  was  particularly  active  in 
his  efforts  when  Boris  Andreyitch  visited  him, 
but  thanks  to  Makedonia,  who  almost  flew  off 
her  legs  at  each  step  in  her  eagerness  to  please, 
poor  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  festive  fare  was  al- 
ways a  failure,  and  for  the  most  part  did  not 
get  further  than  a  piece  of  stale  dried  sturgeon 
and  a  glass  of  vodka  which  he  himself  de- 
scribed very  justly  when  he  said  that  it  was 
"capital  against  the  stomach."  After  their  walk 
the  two  friends  would  return  to  Boris  Andrey- 
itch's  house  and  dine  in  leisurely  fashion.  After 
eating  as  though  he  had  had  no  lunch,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  would  retire  to  some  secluded  nook 
and  sleep  for  two  or  three  hours,  while  Boris 
Andreyitch  would  read  foreign  magazines.  In 
II 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

the  evening  the  friends  met  again,  so  great  was 
their  friendship.  Sometimes  they  sat  down  to 
play  preference,  sometimes  they  simply  talked 
as  in  the  morning.  Occasionally  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  would  take  a  guitar  from  the  wall  and 
sing  in  a  rather  agreeable  tenor.  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  was  very  fond  of  music, — far  more  so 
than  Boris  Andreyitch,  though  the  latter  could 
not  utter  the  name  of  Beethoven  without  a  dis- 
play of  enthusiasm  and  was  always  intending 
to  order  a  piano  from  Moscow.  In  moments 
of  melancholy  or  depression  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
had  the  habit  of  singing  a  song  connected  with 
the  period  of  his  service  in  the  regiment.  .  .  . 
With  peculiar  feeling  and  a  little  through  his 
nose,  he  would  deliver  the  following  verse: 

"No   Frenchman   ever  cooks   for  us; 
A   soldier   gets   our  meals   for  us. 
No  glorious   Rodez  plays   for  us; 
No  Catalini   sings    for   us. 
A  bugler  greets  the  dawn  for  us, 
A    sergeant    brings    reports    to    us."  .  .  . 

Boris  Andreyitch  would  sometimes  second 
him,  but  his  voice  was  disagreeable  and  not 
always  in  tune.    At  ten  o'clock,  and  sometimes 

12 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

earlier,  the  friends  parted.  .  .  .  And  the  same 
thing  began  again  next  day. 

Sitting  one  day  as  usual,  a  little  on  one  side 
facing  Boris  Andreyitch,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
looked  at  him  rather  intently  and  brought  out 
in  a  dreamy  voice: 

"There's  one  thing  I  wonder  at,  Boris  An- 
dreyitch." 

"What's  that?"  inquired  the  latter. 

"Why,  this.  You're  young,  intelligent,  well- 
educated.  What  induces  you  to  live  in  the 
country?" 

Boris  Andreyitch  looked  at  his  neighbour  in 
surprise. 

"Why,  you  know,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,"  he  said 
at  last,  "that  if  it  were  not  for  my  circum- 
stances .  .  .  circumstances  compel  me  to, 
Pyotr  VassilyitcH." 

"Circumstances.  Your  circumstances  are 
nothing  to  matter  so  far.  .  .  .  With  your 
estate  you  can  get  along  all  right.  You  should 
go  into  the  service."  And  after  a  brief  pause 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  added:  "If  I  were  you  I 
should  go  into  the  Uhlans." 

"The  Uhlans?    Why  into  the  Uhlans?" 
13 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Oh,  I  fancy  it  would  be  more  suitable  for 
you  to  be  in  the  Uhlans." 

"But  excuse  me,  you  were  in  the  Hussars, 
weren't  you?" 

"I?  Of  course'I  was  in  the  Hussars,"  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  said  eagerly.  "And  in  what  a  regi- 
ment! You  wouldn't  find  another  regiment 
like  it  in  the  whole  world!  It  was  a  golden 
regiment!  My  superior  officers,  my  comrades 
— ^what  fellows  they  were!  But  you,  I  don't 
know.  .  .  .  You  ought  to  be  in  the  Uhlans, 
to  my  thinking.  You're  fair,  you've  a  slim  fig- 
ure, it's  all  in  keeping." 

"But  excuse  me,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch.  You 
forget  that  by  the  Army  regulations  I  should 
have  to  begin  as  an  Ensign.  At  my  age  that 
would  be  rather  difficult.  I  think  it's  forbidden, 
in  fact." 

"That's  true,"  observed  Pyotr  Vassilyitch, 
and  he  became  downcast.  "Well,  in  that  case 
you  should  get  married,"  he  pronounced,  sud- 
denly raising  his  head. 

"What  queer  ideas  you've  got  to-day,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,"  exclaimed  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Why  queer?  What's  the  use  of  living  like 
14 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

this  really  ?  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  You're 
only  losing  time.  I  want  to  know  what  ad- 
vantage it  will  be  to  you  not  to  get  married." 

"But  it's  not  a  question  of  advantage,"  Boris 
Andreyitch  was  beginning. 

"No,  excuse  me,"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  inter- 
rupted him,  suddenly  growing  excited.  "I  can't 
understand  why  it  is  young  men  are  so  afraid 
to  be  married  nowadays !  I  simply  can't  under- 
stand it.  Never  mind  my  not  being  married, 
Boris  Andreyitch.  I  wanted  to  be  perhaps  and 
made  an  offer,  but  they  showed  me  out,"  and 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  pointed  upwards  and  out- 
wards with  the  finger  of  his  right  hand  towards 
Boris  Andreyitch. 

"But  with  your  property  how  is  it  you're  not 
married  ?" 

Boris  Andreyitch  looked  intently  at  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch. 

"Is  it  amusing  to  live  as  a  bachelor?"  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  went  on.  "It's  nothing  to  boast  of ! 
It's  a  poor  sort  of  fun!  Really  the  young  men 
of  to-day  are  a  wonder  to  me."  And  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  knocked  his  pipe  against  the  arm 
IS 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  his  chair  with  an  air  of  vexation  and  blew 
violently  into  the  mouthpiece. 

"But  who  has  told  you,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch, 
that  I  don't  intend  to  get  married?"  Boris 
Andreyitch  brought  out  slowly. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  remained  motionless,  as  he 
was,  with  his  fingers  in  his  spangled  maroon 
velvet  tobacco  pouch.  Boris  Andreyitch's  words 
astonished  him. 

"Yes,"  Boris  Andreyitch  went  on,  "I'm  ready 
to  be  married.    Find  me  a  bride  and  I'll  marry.'* 

"Really?" 

"Really." 

"No,  I  say,  upon  your  word  ?" 

"What  a  fellow  you  are,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch! 
Upon  my  word  I'm  not  joking." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  filled  his  pipe. 

"Well  you  shall  see  then,  Boris  Andreyitch. 
We'll  find  you  a  bride," 

"Very  good,"  replied  Boris  Andreyitch,  "but 
tell  me  really  what  do  you  want  to  marry  me 
for?" 

"Why  because,  as  I  told  you,  you're  not  fitted 
for  doing  nothing  like  this." 

Boris  Andreyitch  smiled. 
i6 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"It  has  always  seemed  to  me,  on  the  contrary, 
that  I  was  a  master  at  it." 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  said  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch,  and  he  changed  the  conversation. 

Two  days  later  Pyotr  Vassilyitch-  arrived  at 
his  neighbour's  not  in  his  usual  sack  overcoat, 
but  in  a  frock-coat,  the  colour  of  a  raven's 
wing,  with  a  high  waist,  minute  buttons  and 
long  sleeves.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  moustaches 
looked  almost  black  from  wax,  and  his  hair, 
curled  tightly  in  front  in  the  form  of  two  long 
sausages,  glistened  with  pomatum.  A  big  velvet 
cravat  with  a  satin  ribbon  tightly  compressed 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  neck  and  gave  a  solemn  im- 
mobility and  festive  dignity  to  the  whole  of 
the  upper  part  of  his  person. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  get-up?"  en- 
quired Boris  Andreyitch. 

"The  meaning  of  this  get-up,"  replied  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  sinking  into  an  armchair,  but  not 
with  his  usual  carelessness,  "is  that  you  must 
order  the  carriage;  we  are  going  out." 

"Whereto?" 

"To  see  the  bride." 

"What  bride?" 

17 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Why,  have  you  forgotten  already  what  we 
were  talking  about  three  days  ago?" 

Boris  Andreyitch  laughed,  though  he  was  in- 
wardly disturbed. 

"Upon  my  word,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  why,  that 
was  only  a  joke." 

"A  joke?  How  was  it  then  that  you  swore 
at  the  time  that  you  were  not  joking?  No,  ex- 
cuse me,  Boris  Andreyitch,  you  must  keep  your 
word.     I've  taken  steps  already." 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  still  more  disturbed. 

"What  steps  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  don't  worry  yourself.  .  .  .  What  do 
you  imagine !  I  have  only  warned  a  neighbour 
of  ours,  a  very  charming  lady,  that  we  intend 
to  call  on  her  to-day." 

"Who  is  this  neighbour?" 

"Wait  a  bit  and  you  will  know.  Come,  you 
must  first  dress  and  order  the  horses." 

Boris  Andreyitch  looked  round  him  irreso- 
lutely. 

"Really,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  what  possessed 
you !  .  .  .  Look  at  the  weather." 

"The  weather  doesn't  matter ;  it's  always  like 
that." 

i8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"And  is  it  far  to  drive?" 

"About  ten  miles." 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  silent.  "But  let  us  at 
least  have  lunch  first !" 

"Lunch,  certainly,  if  you  like.  Do  you  know 
what;  you  run  and  dress  now.  I'll  arrange  it 
all  while  you  are  gone :  a  drop  of  vodka,  a 
morsel  of  caviare,  and  we  shall  be  fed  at  the 
little  widow's.  You  needn't  be  anxious  about 
that." 

"You  don't  say  she's  a  widow?"  Boris  An- 
dreyitch asked,  turning  round  on  his  way  to 
the  door. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  shook  his  head. 

"There,  you  will  see,  you  will  see." 

Boris  Andreyitch  went  out  and  shut  the  door 
after  him,  while  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  left  alone, 
ordered  the  lunch  and  the  carriage. 

Boris  Andreyitch  spent  a  considerable  time 
over  his  toilet.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  with  a  slight 
frown  and  a  melancholy  air,  was  already  drink- 
ing his  second  glass  of  vodka  when  Boris 
Andreyitch  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  study. 
He  had  taken  trouble  over  dressing.  He  had 
put  on  a  full  fashionably  cut  black  frock-coat, 
19 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

the  dark  mass  of  which  contrasted  agreeably 
with  the  faint  brilliance  of  the  light-grey  trou- 
sers, a  low  black  cravat,  and  a  handsome  dark- 
blue  waistcoat;  a  gold  chain  hooked  into  the 
lowest  buttonhole  modestly  vanished  into  the 
side  pocket;  the  thin  high  boots  creaked  in  a 
gentlemanly  way,  and  at  Boris  Andreyitch's 
entrance  the  air  was  filled  with  a  scent  of  Ess 
bouquet  combined  with  the  smell  of  fresh  linen. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  could  only  articulate  "Ah !" 
and  pick  up  his  cap. 

Boris  Andreyitch  drew  a  grey  kid  glove  on 
to  his  left  hand,  after  first  blowing  into  it; 
then  with  the  same  hand  he  nervously  poured 
himself  out  a  quarter  of  a  glass  of  vodka  and 
drank  it  off ;  than  he  took  his  hat  and  went  with 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  out  into  the  entry. 

"I'm  doing  this  entirely  on  your  account," 
said  Boris  Andreyitch,  as  he  got  into  the  car- 
riage. 

"Supposing  it  is  on  my  account,"  said  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  who  was  evidently  impressed  by 
Boris  Andreyitch's  elegant  appearance;  "you 
will  perhaps  thank  me  for  it  yourself." 

20 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

And  he  told  the  coachman  where  to  drive  and 
how  to  get  there. 

The  carriage  drove  off. 

"We  are  going  to  see  Sofya  Kirillovna  Zad- 
nyeprovskoy,"  observed  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  after 
a  rather  prolonged  interval,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  two  friends  had  sat  motionless  as 
though  turned  to  stone.  "Have  you  heard  of 
her?" 

"I  believe  I  have,"  answered  Boris  Andrey- 
itch.  "Why,  have  you  chosen  her  for  a  bride 
for  me  ?" 

"And  why  not?  She  is  a  woman  of  excel- 
lent understanding,  with  property,  with  the 
manners,  one  may  say,  of  Petersburg.  But  you 
can  have  a  look  at  her.  That  doesn't  bind  you 
to  anything,  you  know." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  retorted  Boris  Andrey- 
itch,  "and  how  old  is  she?" 

"Twenty-five  or  seven, — not  more";  in  her 
very  prime,  as  they  say !" 

It  was  not  ten  miles  to  Madame  Zadnyeprov- 
skoy's  but  a  good  sixteen  and  a  half,  so  that 
Boris  Andreyitch  was  fairly  frozen  by  the  end 

21 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  the  drive  and  kept  hiding  his  reddening  nose 
in  the  beaver  collar  of  his  greatcoat. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  not  afraid  of  cold  as 
a  rule — and  especially  not  so  when  he  was 
dressed  in  his  holiday  dress,  then  he  was  more 
liable  to  get  into  a  perspiration.  Madame  Zad- 
nyeprovskoy's  homestead  consisted  of  a  little 
new  white  house  with  a  green  roof  of  suburban 
style  that  looked  like  a  summer  villa,  and  a 
little  garden  and  courtyard.  Such  villas  may 
frequently  be  met  with  near  Moscow;  in  the 
provinces  they  are  not  so  common.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  lady  had  settled  here  only  re- 
cently. The  friends  got  out  of  the  carriage. 
They  were  met  on  the  steps  by  a  footman  in 
pea-green  trousers  and  a  grey  swallowtail  coat 
with  rounded  edges  and  buttons  with  a  crest 
on  them;  in  the  entry,  which  was  fairly  neat 
though  it  had  a  box  seat  in  it,  they  were  met 
by  another  similar  footman.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
bade  him  take  his  name  and  Boris  Andreyitch's 
to  his  mistress. 

The  footman  did  not  go  to  his  mistress,  but 
answered  that  he  had  orders  to  show  them  in. 

They  went  in  and  through  a  dining-room  in 

22 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

which  a  canary  was  singing  in  a  deafening  way, 
walked  into  a  drawing-room  full  of  fashionable 
Russian  shop-made  furniture,  very  ingeniously 
constructed  .and  with  chairs  bent  in  all  direc- 
tions to  provide  comfort  for  the  sitter  and  really 
very  uncomfortable.  Two  minutes  had  not 
elapsed  when  the  rustle  of  a  silk  dress  was 
heard  in  the  next  room;  the  curtain  over  the 
door  was  raised  and  the  lady  of  the  house 
walked  with  rapid  steps  into  the  drawing-room. 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  made  a  bow  and  a  scrape  and 
introduced  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance 
and  have  long  wished  to,"  the  lady  responded 
in  a  free-and-easy  tone,  scanning  him  with  a 
rapid  glance,  "I  am  very  grateful  to  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  for  bringing  me  such  an  agreeable 
acquaintance;  please  sit  down." 

And  with  a  rustle  of  her  skirts  the  lady  sat 
down  on  a  little  low  sofa,  leaned  back  in  it, 
stretched  out  her  feet  in  charming  little  boots 
and  folded  her  arms.  Her  dress  was  of  green 
glace  silk  with  whitish  lights  on  it,  made  with 
several  rows  of  flounces. 

Boris  Andreyitch  sat  down  on  the  low  chair 
23 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

facing  her,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  a  little  further 
away.  Conversation  followed.  Boris  Andrey- 
itch  scrutinised  Sofya  Kirillovna  attentively. 
She  was  a  tall,  well  made  woman,  with  a  slim 
waist,  dark  and  rather  handsome.  The  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  and  particularly  of  her 
big  and  shining  eyes  turned  up  at  the  corners 
like  a  Chinaman's,  betrayed  a  strange  mixture  of 
boldness  and  timidity  and  could  not  have  been 
called  natural.  She  would  screw  up  her  eyes 
and  then  suddenly  open  them  wide;  a  smile 
which  tried  to  seem  careless  was  continually 
playing  on  her  lips.  All  Sofya  Kirillovna's 
movements  were  very  free,  almost  abrupt.  Her 
appearance  attracted  Boris  Andreyitch,  how- 
ever, except  that  he  was  disagreeably  impressed 
by  the  way  her  hair  was  parted  on  one  side, 
which  gave  a  saucy  and  boyish  air  to  her  face; 
moreover,  to  his  thinking  she  spoke  Russian 
with  excessive  purity  and  correctness.  .  .  . 

Boris  Andreyitch  shared  Pushkin's  opinion 
that  one  can  no  more  love  the  Russian  language 
without  a  grammatical  mistake  than  rosy  lips 
without  a  smile.  In  short,  Sofya  Kirillovna 
belonged  to  that  class  of  women  who  are  spoken 
24 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

of  by  polite  men  as  "ladies  who  can  hold  their 
own,"  by  husbands  as  "formidable  women,"  and 
by  old  bachelors  as  "festive  old  girls." 

At  first  the  conversation  touched  upon  the 
extreme  dullness  of  country  life. 

"There's  simply  not  a  living  soul  here,  sim- 
ply no  one  to  say  a  word  to,"  said  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna,  pronouncing  the  letter  "s"  with  peculiar 
distinctness.  "I  can't  make  out  the  people  liv- 
ing here,  and  those,"  she  added  with  a  grimace, 
"with  whom  it  would  be  pleasant  to  be  ac- 
quainted,— they  don't  call,  they  leave  us  poor 
things  to  our  cheerless  solitude." 

Boris  Andreyitch  made  a  slight  bow  and  mut- 
tered some  awkward  apology  while  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  merely  glanced  at  him  as  though  to  say : 
"Well,  what  did  I  tell  you?  She's  not  at  a 
loss  for  a  word,  you  see." 

"Do  you  smoke?"  asked  Sofya  Kirillovna. 

"Yes.  ...  But  .  .  ." 

"Please  do.  I  smoke  myself."  And  as  she 
said  these  words  the  widow  took  a  rather  large 
silver  cigar  case  from  the  little  table,  took  a 
cigarette  from  it  and  offered  it  to  her  guests. 
Each  took  a  cigarette.  Sofya  Kirillovna  rang 
25 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

the  bell  and  told  a  boy  with  a  broad  expanse 
of  red  waistcoat  to  bring  a  light.  The  boy 
brought  a  wax  candle  on  a  crystal  tray.  The 
cigarettes  were  lighted. 

"Now,  for  instance,  you  wouldn't  believe," 
the  widow  went  on  lightly,  turning  her  head  and 
puffing  a  thin  coil  of  smoke  upwards,  "there 
are  people  here  who  think  ladies  oughtn't  to 
smoke,  and  as  for  riding  on  horseback,  God 
forbid !  They  would  simply  stone  one.  Yes," 
she  added  after  a  brief  pause,  "anything  that 
departs  from  the  common  level,  everything  that 
breaks  the  rules  of  an  artificial  decorum,  is  sub- 
jected to  the  severest  censure  here." 

"The  young  ladies  in  particular  are  angry 
about  that,"  observed  Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  widow.  "They  are  the 
chief  sufferers!  I  don't  know  them  at  all, 
though:  scandal  won't  allow  them  to  visit  my 
solitary  retreat." 

"And  aren't  you  dull?"  asked  Boris  Andrey- 
itch. 

"Dull?     No,    I    read.  .  .  .  And    when    I'm 
tired  of  books  I  dream,  I  tell  my  future  and 
put  questions  to  my  fate." 
26 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"You  tell  your  fortune  on  cards?"  asked 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 

The  widow  gave  a  condescending  smile. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  tell  my  fortune?  I'm  old 
enough  for  that." 

"Oh,  what  next !"  retorted  Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 

Sofya  Kirillovna  screwed  up  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  him. 

"Let  us  drop  that  subject,  though,"  she  said, 
and  turned  with  alacrity  to  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Listen,  Monsieur  Vyazovnin.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  are  interested  in  Russian  litera- 
ture?" 

"Yes.  ...  Of  course.  .  .  ." 

Vyazovnin  was  fond  of  reading,  but  he  had 
read  little  in  Russian  and  without  interest.  The 
more  modern  literature  especially  was  unknown 
to  him ;  he  had  stopped  at  Pushkin. 

"Tell  me,  please,  why  has  Marlinsky  fallen 
into  such  disfavour  of  late?  To  my  thinking 
it's  extremely  unjust;  what  is  your  view  of 
him?" 

"Marlinsky  is  a  writer  of  merit  of  course," 
Boris  Andreyitch  replied. 

"He  is  a  poet;  he  carries  the  imagination 
27 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

away  into  a  world  of  enchantment  and  marvels; 
but  of  late  they've  taken  to  describing  every- 
day life,  and  upon  my  word,  what  good  is  there 
in  this  everyday  life  here  on  earth?  .  .  ." 

And  Sofya  Kirillovna  waved  her  hand  round 
her.  Boris  Andreyitch  looked  significantly  at 
Sofya  Kirillovna. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  I  think  there's  a 
great  deal  that's  good  just  here,"  he  said,  with 
peculiar  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

Sofya  Kirillovna  suddenly  broke  into  an  ab- 
rupt laugh,  while  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  as  suddenly 
raised  his  head,  thought  a  moment,  and  fell  to 
smoking  again. 

The  conversation  went  on  in  the  same  style 
till  dinner  time,  continually  changing  from  one 
subject  to  another,  which  does  not  happen  when 
a  conversation  becomes  really  interesting. 
Amongst  other  things  they  touched  upon  mar- 
riage, its  advantages  and  disadvantages  and 
the  position  of  women  in  general.  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna vigorously  attacked  marriage,  became  ex- 
cited at  last,  and,  beginning  to  feel  hot,  ex- 
pressed herself  very  eloquently,  though  her 
28 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

listeners  scarcely  contradicted  her;  it  was  not 
for  nothing  that  she  loved  Marlinsky. 

She  could,  too,  resort  on  occasion  to  the  fine 
flowers  of  the  most  up-to-date  style.  The  words 
"artistic,"  "aestheticism,"  "conditioned  by"  were 
continuously  dropping  from  her  lips. 

"What  can  be  of  more  value  to  a  woman  than 
freedom? — freedom  of  thought,  of  feeling,  of 
action,"  she  exclaimed  at  last. 

"But  excuse  me,"  said  Pyotr  Vassilyitch, 
whose  face  was  beginning  to  assume  a  disatis- 
fied  expression,  "what  does  woman  want  free- 
dom for;  what  will  she  do  with  it?" 

"How  can  you  ask  'what'?  Why,  a  man 
wants  it  to  your  thinking,  doesn't  he?  To  be 
sure  you  gentlemen  .  .  ." 

"But  a  man  doesn't  want  it  either,"  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  interrupted  her  again. 

"How  do  you  mean — doesn't  want  it?" 

"Why,  just  what  I  say — that  he  doesn't. 
What  use  to  a  man  is  the  freedom  you  praise 
so?  A  man  who  is  free — it's  a  thing  we  all 
know — is  either  bored  or  plays  the  fool." 

"Then,"  observed  Sofya  Kirillovna  with  an 
■ironical  smile,  "you  are  bored,  because,  know- 
29 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ing  you  to  be  a  sensible  man,  I  can't  suppose 
that  you  play  the  fool,  as  you  say." 

"Both  happen,"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  answered 
calmly. 

"Well,  that's  charming!  However  I  ought 
to  be  grateful  to  your  boredom  for  giving  me 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  here  to-day.  .  .  ." 

And  satisfied  with  the  tactful  turn  of  her 
phrase  the  lady  sank  back  a  little,  and  pro- 
nounced in  an  undertone: 

"Your  friend,  I  see,  is  fond  of  paradoxes. 
Monsieur  Vyazovnin." 

"I  haven't  noticed  it,"  replied  Boris  Andrey- 
itch. 

"What  am  I  fond  of?"  asked  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch. 

"Paradoxes." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  looked  into  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna's  eyes  and  made  her  no  reply  but  thought 
to  himself:  "I  know  what  you're  fond  of.  ..." 

The  boy  with  the  red  waistcoat  came  in  and 
announced  that  dinner  was  ready. 

"Will  you  come,  then?"  said  the  lady,  get- 
ting up  from  the  sofa,  and  they  all  went  into 
the  dining-room. 

30 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

The  two  friends  did  not  like  the  dinner. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  hungry  when  he  rose 
from  the  table,  though  there  were  many  dishes ; 
while  Boris  Andreyitch,  who  was  fond  of  good 
fare,  was  dissatisfied  though  the  food  was 
served  under  dish  covers,  and  the  plates  had 
been  heated.  The  wines,  too,  were  poor,  in 
spite  of  the  magnificent  labels,  adorned  with 
gold  and  silver,  on  the  bottles.  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna  talked  without  ceasing,  though  from  time 
to  time  she  cast  expressive  glances  at  the  serv- 
ants who  were  handing  the  dishes,  and  she 
drank  a  fair  amount  of  wine,  remarking  that 
in  England  all  the  ladies  drank  wine,  while  here 
even  that  was  considered  improper.  After  din- 
ner the  lady  invited  them  back  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  asked  them  which  they  preferred, 
tea  or  coffee.  Boris  Andreyitch  preferred  tea, 
and  after  emptying  his  cup  inwardly  regretted 
that  he  had  not  asked  for  coffee,  while  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  chose  coffee,  and  after  emptying  it 
asked  for  tea,  tasted  it  and  put  the  cup  back 
on  the  tray. 

The  lady  settled  herself  in  her  seat,  lighted 
a  cigarette  and  was  evidently  not  disinclined  to 
31 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

enter  on  the  liveliest  conversation:  her  eyes 
glowed  and  her  dark  cheeks  were  flushed,  but 
her  guests  responded  listlessly  to  her  sallies, 
were  more  absorbed  by  their  smoking,  and  judg- 
ing from  the  looks  they  bent  on  the  corners  of 
the  room  were  thinking  of  taking  leave. 

Boris  Andreyitch,  however,  would  probably 
have  consented  to  stay  till  evening:  he  had 
just  entered  upon  a  skirmish  with  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna  on  her  asking  coquettishly  whether  he 
was  not  surprised  at  her  living  alone  without  a 
companion,  but  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  unmis- 
takably in  a  huri-y  to  go  home.  He  got  up, 
went  out  into  the  entry  and  ordered  the  horses. 

When  at  last  the  two  friends  began  saying 
good-bye  and  their  hostess  tried  to  keep  them, 
and  politely  upbraided  them  for  staying  so  short 
a  time,  Boris  Andreyitch  by  the  irresolute  in- 
clination of  his  person  and  the  simpering  ex- 
pression of  his  face  did  at  least  show  that  her 
reproaches  had  some  effect  on  him;  but  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  kept  muttering  "quite  impossible, 
time  to  be  going,  work  to  do,  it's  moonlight 
now,"  and  obstinately  backed  towards  the  door. 
Sofya  Kirillovna  made  them  promise,  however, 
32 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

that  they  would  come  again  in  a  few  days  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  them  for  an  English 
"shake  hands." 

Boris  Andreyitch  alone  availed  himself  of  the 
offer  and  pressed  her  fingers  rather  warmly. 
She  screwed  up  her  eyes  and  smiled.  At  that 
instant  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  already  putting 
on  his  greatcoat  in  the  entry. 

Before  the  carriage  had  driven  out  of  the 
village  he  first  broke  the  silence  by  exclaiming: 

"That's  not  the  thing,  not  the  thing,  no,  it 
won't  do!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Boris  Andreyitch 
asked  him. 

"It's  not  the  thing,  not  the  thing,"  repeated 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  looking  away  and  tul-ning  a 
little  aside. 

"If  you  are  saying  that  about  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna,  I  don't  agree  with  you;  she's  a  very 
charming  lady,  conceited  but  charming." 

"I  should  think  so !  Of  course  if  your  only 
object  were  .  .  .  but  you  know  my  motive 
in  wanting  to  make  you  acquainted  with  her." 

Boris  Andreyitch  did  not  answer. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  she's  not  right !  I  see  that 
33 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

myself.  I  like  that — saying  about  herself :  'I'm 
an  epicure.*  Why,  I've  two  teeth  out  on  the 
right  side  here  but  do  you  suppose  I  talk  about 
it  ?  And  anyone  can  see  that  without  my  saying 
so.  And  besides  she's  a  nice  housekeeper,  isn't 
she?  Why,  she  has  almost  starved  me  to 
death.  No.  What  I  think  is,  be  free  and  easy, 
be  learned  if  you  have  a  turn  that  way,  have 
bon  ton  if  you  like,  but  be  a  good  housekeeper 
before  everything.  No,  she  won't  do,  she  won't 
do,  that's  not  what  you  want.  There's  no  daz- 
zling you  with  those  red  waistcoats  and  night- 
caps over  the  dishes." 

"But  do  you  want  me  to  be  dazzled  ?"  asked 
Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  want, — I  know." 

"I  assure  you  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  intro- 
ducing me  to  Sofya  Kirillovna." 

"So  much  the  better,  but  I  say  again,  she 
won't  do." 

The  friends  arrived  home  late.  As  he  was 
leaving  Boris  Andreyitch,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  said : 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  you  off  though,  I'm  not 
going  to  give  you  back  your  promise." 
34 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Very  well,  I'm  at  your  service,"  replied 
Boris  Andreyitch. 

"That's  all  right  then!"  And  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  went  off. 

A  whole  week  passed  again  in  the  usual 
routine  with  the  only  difference,  however,  that 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  absent  for  a  whole  day. 
At  last  one  morning  he  appeared  again  dressed 
in  his  holiday  best,  and  again  proposed  to  Boris 
Andreyitch  to  take  him  with  him  for  a  visit. 
Boris  Andreyitch,  who  had  evidently  been  ex- 
pecting this  invitation  with  some  impatience, 
obeyed  without  protest. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  now?"  he  asked 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  as  he  sat  beside  him  in  the 
sledge.  Winter  had  set  in  since  their  expedition 
to  Sofya  Kirillovna's. 

"I'm  taking  you  now,"  answered  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch impressively,  "to  a  very  respectable 
family — to  the  Tihoduevs.  It's  a  most  respect- 
able family.  The  old  man  is  a  colonel,  and  an 
excellent  fellow.  His  wife  is  an  excellent  lady; 
they  have  two  daughters,  extremely  amiable 
persons,  very  well  educated,  and  there  is  prop- 
erty. I  don't  know  which  you  will  like  best. 
35 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

One,  well,  is  rather  livelier,  the  other  is  quieter ; 
the  other,  I  confess,  is  too  shy,  but  there  is 
something  to  be  said  for  both  of  them.  Well, 
you  will  see." 

"Very  well,  I  will  see,"  replied  Boris  Andrey- 
itch,  and  thought  to  himself:  "Like  the  Larin 
family  in  Onyegin." 

And  either  thanks  to  this  reminiscence  or  for 
some  other  reason,  his  features  assumed  an  ex- 
pression of  disillusionment  and  boredom. 

"What's  the  father's  name?"  he  asked  cas- 
ually. 

"Kalimon  Ivanitch,"  answered  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch. 

"Kalimon!  What  a  name!  .  .  .  And  the 
mother?" 

"The  mother's  name  is  Pelageya  Ivanovna." 

"And  the  daughters'  names?" 

"One  is  Pelageya  too,  and  the  other  is 
Emerentsiya." 

"Emerentsiya  ?  I  have  never  heard  such  a 
name  in  my  life.  .  .  .  And  Kalimon  too  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  the  name  certainly  is  rather  odd.    But 
what  a  girl  she  is !    Simply,  one  might  say,  made 
of  a  sort  of  virtuous  fire!" 
36 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Upon  my  soul,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  how  poet- 
ically you  express  yourself.  But  which  of  them 
is  Emerentsiya — ^the  one  that's  rather  quiet?" 

"No,  the  other.  .  .  .  But  there,  you'll  see  for 
yourself." 

"Emerentsiya  Kalimonovna  1"  Vyazovnin  ex- 
claimed once  more. 

"Her  mother  calls  her  Emerancc"  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  observed  in  an  undertone. 

"And  does  she  call  her  husband  Calimonf" 

"That  I  haven't  heard,  but  there,  wait  a  bit." 

"Oh,  I'll  wait." 

To  the  Tihoduevs'  it  was  a  drive  of  nearly 
twenty  miles,  as  it  had  been  to  Sofya  Kiril- 
lovna's;  but  their  old-fashioned  house  was  not 
in  the  least  hke  the  jaunty  little  villa  of  the 
free-and-easy  widow. 

It  was  a  clumsy  building,  roomy  and  ram- 
bling, a  mass  of  dark  beams  with  dark  panes 
in  the  windows.  Tall  birch-trees  stood  in  two 
rows  on  each  side;  the  dark-brown  tops  of 
huge  lime-trees  could  be  seen  behind  the  roof, 
the  whole  house  seemed  overgrown;  in  sum- 
mer all  this  vegetation  probably  brightened  up 
the  place,  in  winter  it  gave  it  a  still  more  dis- 
37 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

consolate  aspect.  The  impression  made  by  the 
inside  of  the  house  could  not  be  called  cheering 
either:  everything  in  it  looked  gloomy  and 
dingy,  everything  looked  older  than  it  really 
was.  The  friends  sent  in  their  names  and  were: 
ushered  into  the  drawing-room. 

The  master  and  mistress  of  the  house  got 
up  to  greet  them,  but  for  a  long  time  could  only 
welcome  them  by  signs  and  bodily  movements, 
to  which  the  guests  on  their  side  replied  only 
by  signs  and  bows,  such  a  deafening  barking 
was  set  up  by  four  white  sheepdogs  who  on 
the  appearance  of  strangers  bounded  up  from 
the  embroidered  cushions  on  which  they  had 
been  lying.  In  one  way  and  another,  by  flap- 
ping pocket-handkerchiefs  and  other  means, 
they  pacified  the  infuriated  curs,  but  a  maid- 
servant was  obliged  to  drag  one  of  them,  the 
oldest  and  most  spiteful,  from  under  a  seat  and 
to  take  it  away  into  a  bedroom,  getting  bitten 
on  her  right  hand  in  the  process. 

When  silence  was  restored,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
took  advantage  of  it  to  introduce  Boris  An- 
dreyitch.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Tihoduev  sim- 
ultaneously declared  that  they  were  very  glad 
38 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

to  meet  their  new  acquaintance;  then  Kalimon 
Ivanitch  introduced  his  daughters,  calUng  them 
Polinka  and  Eminka.  There  were  two  other 
persons  of  the  female  sex,  no  longer  young,  in 
the  room,  one  in  a  cap  and  the  other  in  a  dark 
kerchief;  but  Kalimon  Ivanitch  did  not  think 
fit  to  introduce  Boris  Andreyitch  to  them. 

Kalimon  Ivanitch  was  a  tall,  stoutly  built, 
grey-headed  man  of  about  five  and  fifty;  his 
face  expressed  nothing  in  particular:  his  fea- 
tures were  plain  and  heavy  with  a  stamp  of 
indifference,  good  nature  and  indolence  upon 
them.  His  wife,  a  thin  little  woman,  with  a 
little  face  that  looked  rather  the  worse  for  wear 
and  a  front  of  reddish  hair  under  a  high  cap, 
seemed  in  continual  agitation ;  traces  of  bygone 
affectation  could  be  detected  in  her.  One  of 
the  daughters,  Pelageya,  a  girl  with  dark  hair 
and  a  swarthy  skin,  looked  up  from  under  her 
brows  and  was  wildly  shy;  on  the  other  hand, 
Emerentsiya,  a  fair-haired,  plump  girl  with 
round  red  cheeks,  with  a  little  pursed-up  mouth, 
a  turned-up  nose,  and  sugary  eyes,  fairly  thrust 
herself  forward.  It  was  evident  that  the  duty 
of  entertaining  visitors  was  her  responsibility 
39 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

and  did  not  weigh  upon  her  in  the  least.  Both 
sisters  wore  white  dresses  with  light-blue  rib- 
bons that  fluttered  with  the  slightest  movement. 
Blue  suited  Emerentsiya,  but  did  not  suit  Po- 
linka  .  .  .  indeed,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  find  anything  to  suit  her,  though  she  could 
not  have  been  called  ugly. 

The  visitors  were  seated  and  the  usual  ques- 
tions were  put  to  them,  pronounced  with  that 
mawkish  and  affected  expression  of  face  seen 
in  the  most  well-bred  persons  during  the  first 
moments  of  conversation  with  new  acquaint- 
ances; the  guests  replied  in  the  same  manner. 
All  this  had  a  somewhat  oppressive  effect.  Kali- 
mon  Ivanitch,  who  was  not  naturally  very  re- 
sourceful, asked  Boris  Andreyitch  "whether 
he  had  been  living  long  in  our  parts" — ^though 
Boris  Andreyitch  had  only  just  replied  to  the 
same  question  from  Pelageya  Ivanovna.  The 
lady  in  a  very  soft  voice — the  voice  always  used 
before  visitors  on  the  day  of  their  first  visit — 
reproached  her  husband  for  his  absent-minded- 
ness. 

Kalimon  Ivanitch  was  rather  confused  and 
blew  his  nose  loudly  with  a  check  pocket-hand- 
40 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

kerchief.  This  sound  excited  one  of  the  sheep- 
dogs and  it  began  barking;  but  Emerentsiya 
was  on  the  spot  at  once  and  soothed  it  back 
into  silence.  The  same  young  lady  contrived 
to  render  another  service  to  her  somewhat  help- 
less parents :  she  enlivened  the  conversation  by 
modestly  but  resolutely  sitting  down  beside 
Boris  Andreyitch  and,  with  the  most  honeyed 
air,  asking  him  questions  which  though  trivial 
were  agreeable  and  calculated  to  elicit  amusing 
answers.  Things  were  soon  going  swimmingly ; 
a  lively  general  conversation  sprang  up  in  which 
all  but  Polinka  took  part.  She  looked  obsti- 
nately at  the  floor,  while  Emerentsiya  actually 
laughed,  gracefully  lifting  up  one  hand  and  at 
the  same  time  her  manner  seemed  to  be  saying : 
"Look,  look,  how  well-bred  and  amiable  I  am 
and  what  charming  playfulness  and  friendli- 
ness I  have  with  everyone !"  She  seemed  even 
to  be  lisping  out  of  good  nature.  She  laughed 
with  lingering  dulcet  notes  though  Boris  An- 
dreyitch did  not  at  first  say  anything  particularly 
funny.  She  laughed  still  more  when  Boris 
Andreyitch,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  his 
>vords,  began  being  really  witty  and  mali- 
41 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

cious.  .  .  .  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  laughed  too.  Vy- 
azovnin  observed  among  other  things  that  he 
was  passionately  fond  of  music.  "And  I'm 
most  awfully  fond  of  music  too!"  exclaimed 
Emerentsiya. 

"You're  not  only  fond  of  it — you're  a  first- 
rate  musician  yourself,"  observed  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch. 

"Really?"  asked  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Both  Emerentsiya  Kalimonovna  and  Pela- 
geya  Kalimonovna  sing  and  play  the  piano  very 
well,  especially  Emerentsiya  Kalimonovna." 

On  hearing  her  name  Polinka  flushed  crim- 
son and  almost  started  up  from  her  seat  while 
Emerentsiya  modestly  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Mesdemoiselles,"  said  Boris  Andreyitch, 
"surely  you  will  not  refuse  to  be  so  good  .  .  . 
to  give  me  the  pleasure  .  .  ," 

"Really  ...  I  don't  know  ,  .  ."  And  cast- 
ing a  sly  glance  at  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  she 
added  reproachfully:  "Oh,  what  a  man  you 
are!" 

But  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  like  a  practical  person 
at  once  appealed  to  the  mistress  of  the  house. 
42 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Pelageya  Ivanovna,"  he  said,  "please  tell  your 
daughters  to  play  or  sing  us  something." 

"I  don't  know  whether  they  are  in  voice  to- 
day, but  they  can  try." 

"Yes,  try,  try!"  their  father  urged. 

"Oh,  Maman,  but  how  can  we?  .  .  ." 

"Emerance,  quand  je  vous  dis  .  .  ."  Pela- 
geya Ivanovna  pronounced  in  a  low  voice  but 
very  gravely. 

She  had  the  habit,  common  to  many  mothers, 
of  giving  orders  or  addressing  reproofs  to  her 
children  before  other  persons  in  French,  even 
though  those  persons  understood  that  language, 
and  this  practice  was  the  more  strange  in  her 
case  as  she  knew  very  little  French  and  pro- 
nounced it  badly.    Emerentsiya  got  up. 

"What  are  we  going  to  sing,  Maman f"  she 
asked  submissively. 

"Your  duet ;  it's  very  charming.  My  daugh- 
ters," Pelageya  Ivanovna  went  on,  addressing 
Boris  Andreyitch,  "have  different  voices ;  Emer- 
entsiya a  treble  .  .  ." 

"Soprano,  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Somprano,  and  Polinka 
contro-alto." 

43 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Ah!     Contralto!     That's  very  nice." 

"I  can't  sing  to-day,"  Pohnka  brought  out 
with  an  effort.  "I  am  hoarse."  Her  voice  cer- 
tainly sounded  more  like  a  bass  than  a  con- 
tralto. 

"Ah,  well,  if  so,  Emerance,  you  sing  us  your 
piece,  the  Italian  one,  our  favourite,  and  Po- 
linka  will  accompany  you." 

"The  piece  where  you  go  pattering  like  peas," 
her  father  chimed  in. 

"The  bravura,"  explained  the  mother. 

The  two  young  ladies  went  to  the  piano. 
Polinka  raised  the  lid,  put  a  book  of  manuscript 
music  on  the  music  rest  and  sat  down,  while 
Emerentsiya  stood  by  her,  throwing  herself  not 
too  obviously  into  charming  attitudes  under  the 
fixed  gaze  of  Boris  Andreyitch  and  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch,  and  at  times  putting  her  handkerchief 
to  her  lips.  At  last  she  began  to  sing,  as  for 
the  most  part  young  ladies  do  sing,  shrilly  and 
going  ofi  at  moments  into  howls.  She  did  not 
articulate  the  words  distinctly,  but  from  certain 
nasal  sounds  it  could  be  surmised  that  she  was 
singing  in  Italian. 

Towards  the  end  she  really  did  break  into  a 
44 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"patter  like  peas"  to  the  huge  delight  of  Kali- 
mon  Ivanitch — he  raised  himself  slightly  in  his 
easy-chair  and  exclaimed : 

"Give  it  him!" 

But  the  last  trill  she  let  off  earlier  than  she 
should,  so  that  her  sister  had  to  play  a  few  bars 
by  herself.  This  did  not,  however,  prevent 
Boris  Andreyitch  from  expressing  his  pleasure 
and  paying  Emerentsiya  compliments,  while 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  after  repeating  twice :  "Very 
good,  very  good,"  added:  "Couldn't  you  give 
us  something  Russian  now;  the  'Nightingale,' 
for  instance,  or  the  'Little  Sarafan,*  or  some 
gipsy  song?  These  foreign  pieces,  to  tell  the 
truth,  are  not  written  for  people  like  us." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Kalimon  Ivanitch. 

"Chant ^2  le  Sarafan,"  the  mother  observed  in 
an  undertone  and  with  the  same  severity  as 
before. 

"No,  not  the  'Sarafan,'  "  interposed  Kalimon 
Ivanitch,  "but  'We  Two  Gipsy  Girls'  or  'Take 
Off  Your  Cap  and  Make  a  Low  Bow';  do  you 
know  it?" 

"Papa!  You  are  always  like  that!"  Emer- 
entsiya protested,  and  she  sang  "Take  Off 
45 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Your  Cap,"  and  sang  it  fairly  well.  Kalimon 
Ivanitch  joined  in  humming  and  beating  time 
with  his  foot,  while  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  quite 
delighted. 

"Come,  that's  a  different  thing!  That's  in 
our  style,"  he  declared.  "You  have  delighted 
me,  Emerentsiya  Kalimonovna.  .  .  .  Now  I 
see  that  you  have  the  right  to  call  yourself  a 
devotee  of  music  and  a  mistress  of  your  art." 

"Oh,  how  indiscreet  you  are !"  retorted  Emer- 
entsiya, and  would  have  gone  back  to  her  seat. 

"A  present  le  'Sarafan,' "  said  the  mother. 

Emerentsiya  sang  the  "Sarafan,"  not  so  suc- 
cessfully as  "Take  Off  Your  Cap,"  but  still  suc- 
cessfully. 

"Now  you  ought  to  play  us  your  Sonata 
duet,"  observed  Pelageya  Ivanovna,  "though 
perhaps  that  will  be  better  another  time  or  I'm 
afraid  we  shall  weary  Monsieur  Vyazovnin." 

"No  ,  .  .  indeed  .  .  ."  Boris  Andreyitch,  but 
Polinka  closed  the  piano  at  once  and  Emer- 
entsiya declared  that  she  was  tired.  Boris 
Andreyitch  thought  it  necessary  to  repeat  his 
compliment. 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Vyazovnin,"  she  answered, 
46 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"I  expect  you  have  heard  very  different  singers ; 
I  can  imagine  what  my  singing  must  seem  like 
after  them  .  .  .  though  indeed  when  Bome- 
rius  was  here,  he  did  say  to  me.  .  .  .  You've 
heard  of  Bomerius,  I  expect?" 

"No;  what  Bomerius?" 

"Good  gracious !  The  celebrated  violinist ;  he 
studied  in  the  Paris  Conservatoire,  a  wonderful 
musician.  .  .  .  He  said  to  me:  'With  your 
voice,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  could  study  under 
a  good  teacher  it  would  be  simply  marvellous.' 
He  kissed  all  his  fingers  to  me,  but  how  is  one 
to  study  here?"  And  Emerentsiya  heaved  a 
sigh. 

"No,  indeed,"  Boris  Andreyitch  assented  po- 
litely, "but  with  your  talent.  .  .  ."  He  was  at  a 
loss  for  words  and  looked  away  still  more 
politely. 

"Emerance,  demanded  pourquoi  que  le  diner" 
said  Pelageya  Ivanovna. 

"Qui,  Maman,"  replied  Emerentsiya  and  she 
went  out  with  a  sprightly  little  skip  at  the  door. 
She  would  not  have  made  the  skip  if  there  had 
not  been  visitors.  Boris  Andreyitch  turned  to 
Polinka. 

47 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"If  this  is  the  Larin  family,"  he  thought, 
"perhaps  this  one  is  Tatyana." 

And  he  went  up  to  Polinka,  who  watched  his 
approach  not  without  terror. 

"You  played  your  sister's  accompaniment 
charmingly,"  he  began,  "charmingly!" 

Polinka  made  no  answer;  she  merely  turned 
crimson  to  her  ears. 

"I'm  very  sorry  I've  not  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  your  duet ;  from  what  opera  is  it  ?" 

Polinka's  eyes  wandered  uneasily. 

Vyazovnin  waited  for  her  answer ;  no  answer 
came. 

"What  sort  of  music  do  you  like  best?"  he 
asked  after  a  brief  interval,  "Italian  or  Ger- 
man ?" 

Polinka  looked  down. 

"Pelagie,  repondez  done,"  Pelageya  Ivanovna 
brought  out  in  an  agitated  whisper. 

"Any  sort,"  Polinka  articulated  hurriedly. 

"Any  sort?"  Boris  Andreyitch  persisted. 
"That's  hard  to  believe.  Beethoven,  for  in- 
stance, is  a  genius  of  the  first  rank  and  yet  he 
is  not  appreciated  by  everyone." 

"No,"  answered  Polinka. 
48 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Art  is  infinitely  varied,"  Boris  Andreyitch 
continued  mercilessly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Polinka.  The  conversation 
between  them  did  not  last  long. 

"No,"  thought  Boris  Andreyitch  as  he 
moved  away  from  her,  "she  is  not  a  Tatyana; 
she  is  simply  a  tremor  personified.  .  .  ." 

And  when  poor  Polinka  was  going  to  bed 
that  evening  she  complained  with  tears  to  her 
maid  that  the  visitor  to-day  had  pestered  her 
with  music  and  that  she  had  not  known  what 
to  answer,  and  that  she  was  always  wretched 
when  visitors  came ;  it  only  meant  that  Mamma 
scolded  afterwards,  that  was  all  the  pleasure 
she  got  out  of  it. 

At  dinner  Boris  Andreyitch  sat  between  Kali- 
mon  Ivanitch  and  Emerentsiya.  The  dinner 
was  Russian,  not  elaborate  but  ample,  and  far 
more  to  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  taste  than  the  wid- 
ow's recherche  dishes.  Polinka  was  sitting  be- 
side him,  and,  overcoming  her  shyness  at  last, 
she  did  anyway  answer  his  questions. 

Emerentsiya,  on  the  other  hand,  entertained 
her  neighbour  so  zealously  that  at  last  he  could 
hardly  endure  it.  She  had  the  habit  of  turn- 
49 


THE  TWO  FRIENSS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ing  her  head  to  the  right  while  she  lifted  a 
morsel  to  her  mouth  with  the  left  hand,  as  if 
she  was  playing  with  it ;  and  Boris  Andreyitch 
very  much  disliked  this  habit.  He  disliked,  too, 
the  way  in  which  she  incessantly  talked  about 
herself,  confiding  to  him  with  much  feeling  the 
most  trivial  details  of  her  life;  but  as  a  well- 
bred  man  he  made  no  outward  sign  of  his  senti- 
ments, so  that  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  who  was 
watching  him  across  the  table,  was  quite  unable 
to  decide  what  sort  of  impression  Emerentsiya 
was  malting  upon  him. 

After  dinner  Kalimon  Ivanitch  suddenly  sank 
into  meditation,  or,  to  speak  more  directly,  a 
slight  doze;  he  was  accustomed  to  take  a  nap 
after  dinner  and  though,  noticing  that  his  guests 
were  preparing  to  take  their  leave,  he  articu- 
lated several  times:  "But  why  is  this,  gentle- 
men, what  for  ?  How  about  a  game  of  cards  ?" 
— yet  in  his  heart  he  was  pleased  when  he  saw 
that  they  had  their  caps  in  their  hands.  Pela- 
geya  Ivanovna  on  the  contrary  grew  alert  at 
once  and  with  peculiar  insistence  tried. to  keep 
her  visitors.  Emerentsiya  zealously  sxonded 
her,  and  did  everything  she  could  to  persuade 
50 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

them  to  remain;  even  Polinka  said:  "Mais 
Messieurs.  .  .  ." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  answered  neither  yes  nor 
no  and  kept  looking  towards  his  companion; 
but  Boris  Andreyitch  courteously  but  firmly 
insisted  on  the  necessity  of  returning  home.  It 
was  in  fact  just  the  opposite  of  their  leave- 
taking  from  Sofya  Kirillovna. 

Promising  to  repeat  their  visit  very  shortly, 
the  visitors  at  last  withdrew;  Emerentsiya's 
cordial  glances  followed  them  to  the  dining- 
room,  while  Kalimon  Ivanitch  even  went  out 
with  them  to  the  hall,  and  after  watching  Boris 
Andreyitch's  adroit  servant  wrap  the  gentlemen 
in  their  fur  coats,  wind  their  scarves  round 
them,  and  draw  their  warm  top  boots  on  to 
their  feet,  went  back  to  his  study  and  promptly 
fell  asleep,  while  Polinka,  after  being  put  to 
shame  by  her  mother,  went  off  to  her  own  room 
upstairs  and  the  two  mute  feminine  figures,  one 
in  a  cap,  the  other  in  a  dark  kerchief,  con- 
gratulated Emerentsiya  on  her  new  conquest. 

The  friends  drove  off  in  silence.  Boris  An- 
dreyitch smiled  to  himself,  screened  from  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  by  the  turned-up  collar  of  his  rac- 
51 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

coon-lined  coat,  and  waited  to  see  what  he 
would  say. 

"Not  the  thing  again !"  exclaimed  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch. 

But  this  time  a  certain  indecision  was  notice- 
able in  his  voice,  and  straining  to  get  a  look  at 
Boris  Andreyitch  over  his  fur  collar,  he  added 
in  an  enquiring  voice:  "It's  not,  is  it?" 

"No,"  Boris  Andreyitch  answered  with  a 
laugh. 

"I  thought  not,"  replied  Pyotr  Vassilyitch, 
and  after  a  brief  silence  he  added : 

"Though,  after  all,  why  not?  In  what  way 
is  the  young  lady  deficient?" 

"She's  not  deficient  in  anything;  on  the  con- 
trary she  has  too  much  of  everything  .  .  ." 

"How  do  you  mean — too  much?" 

"What  I  say!" 

"Excuse  me,  Boris  Andreyitch,  I  don't  under- 
stand you.  If  you're  speaking  of  culture,  is 
that  amiss?  And  as  regards  character,  con- 
duct ..." 

"Oh,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,"  said  Boris  Andrey- 
itch, "I'm  surprised  that  with  your  clear  way 
of  looking  at  things  you  don't  see  through  that 
52 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

mincing  Emerentsiya !  That  affected  amiabil- 
ity, that  continual  self-adoration,  that  modest 
conviction  of  her  own  virtues,  that  indulgence 
of  an  angel  looking  down  on  you  from  the 
heights  of  heaven, — but  there's  no  need  of 
words !  If  it  came  to  that,  in  case  of  necessity 
I'd  twenty  times  rather  marry  her  sister.  She 
does  know  how  to  hold  her  tongue,  anyway !" 

"You're  right,  of  course,"  poor  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  answered  in  a  low  voice.  Boris  Andrey- 
itch's  sudden  outburst  perplexed  him. 

"No,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  said  it  for  the 
first  time  since  his  acquaintance  with  Vyazov- 
nin,  "this  fellow's  not  on  my  level.  .  .  .  He's 
too  well  educated.  .  .  ." 

Vyazovnin  for  his  part  was  thinking  as  he 
gazed  at  the  moon  which  hung  low  over  the 
white  rim  of  the  horizon:  "And  that  might  be 
out  of  Onyegin  too.  .  .  . 

"  'Round  ruddy-cheeked  is  she  ?' 

"But  a  queer  sort  of  Lensky  I've  got  and  I'm 
a  fine  Onyegin." 

"Go  on,  go  on,  Laryushka !"  he  added  aloud. 

"So  it's  not  the  thing?"  Boris  Andreyitch 
asked  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  jestingly,  as  with  the 
53 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

assistance  of  his  groom  he  got  out  of  the  sledge 
and  mounted  the  steps  of  his  house :  "Eh,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  ?" 

But  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  made  him  no  answer, 
and  went  home  that  night  to  sleep, 

Emerentsiya  next  day  wrote  to  her  friend 
(she  carried  on  a  vast  and  active  correspond- 
ence) : 

"A  new  visitor  came  to  see  us  yesterday,  a 
neighbour  called  Vyazovnin.  He  is  a  very 
charming  and  amiable  person;  one  can  see  at 
once  that  he  is  highly  cultured  and — shall  I 
whisper  it  in  your  ear? — I  fancy  I  made  rather 
an  impression  upon  him.  But  don't  be  uneasy, 
mon  amie;  my  heart  was  not  touched  and 
Valentin  has  nothing  to  fear." 

The  Valentin  referred  to  was  a  high-school 
teacher.  He  was  a  gay  dog  when  he  was  in 
the  town,  while  in  the  country  he  heaved  pla- 
tonic  and  hopeless  sighs  for  Emerentsiya. 

The  friends  met  again  next  morning  as  usual 
and  their  life  flowed  on  in  its  old  way. 

A  fortnight  passed.  Boris  Andreyitch  was 
in  daily  expectation  of  a  fresh  summons  but 
54 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  seemed   to  have  completely 
relinquished  his  design. 

Boris  Andreyitch  began  talking  of  the  widow 
and  of  the  Tihoduevs,  and  hinting  that  one 
ought  to  give  everything  three  trials ;  but  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  gave  no  sign  of  understanding  his 
hints.  At  last  Boris  Andreyitch  could  not  re- 
frain from  beginning. 

"How's  this,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch?"  he  said. 
"It  seems  it's  my  turn  now  to  remind  you  of 
your  promises." 

"What  promises?" 

"Don't  you  remember  you  meant  to  marry 
me;  I  am  waiting." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  turned  round  on  his  chair. 

"But  you  see,  you're  so  particular !  There's 
no  satisfying  you !  God  knows  what  you  want. 
It  seems  we've  no  young  ladies  here  to  your 
taste." 

"That's  too  bad,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch.  You 
ought  not  to  despair  so  soon.  To  fail  twice  is 
not  much  to  complain  of.  Besides,  I  did  like 
the  widow.  If  you  abandon  me,  I'll  go  off 
to  her." 

"Well,  go  then, — and  God  bless  you." 
55 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  I  assure  you,  I  do  want 
to  get  married,  in  earnest;  take  me  somewhere 
else." 

"But  really  there  is  no  one  else  in  the  whole 
district." 

"That's  impossible,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  there's  not  one  pretty  girl  here 
in  the  whole  neighbourhood?" 

"Of  course  there  are  plenty,  but  not  a  match 
for  you." 

"But  do  name  someone,  anyway." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  held  the  amber  of  his  pipe 
in  his  teeth. 

"Well,  there's  Verotchka  Barsukov,  of 
course,"  he  brought  out  at  last;  "what  could 
be  better?    Only  not  for  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"Too  simple." 

"All  the  better,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch.  All  the 
better." 

"And  her  father  is  such  a  queer  fish." 

"That  doesn't  matter  either.  .  .  .  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  my  dear  fellow,  do  introduce  me 
to  this  .  .  .  what  did  you  call  the  young 
lady?" 

56 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Barsukov." 

"To  this  Barsukov  girl  .  .  .  please." 
And  Boris  Andreyitch  gave  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
no  rest  until  the  latter  promised  to  take  him 
to  the  Barsukovs. 

Two  days  later  they  drove  off  to  see  them. 
The  Barsukov  family  consisted  of  two  per- 
sons, the  father,  aged  fifty,  and  the  daughter, 
aged  nineteen.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  had  correctly 
described  the  father  as  a  queer  fish;  he  really 
was  a  singular  person  if  ever  there  was  one. 
After  brilliantly  completing  a  course  of  study 
in  a  Government  institution,  he  entered  the 
Marine  service,  and  quickly  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  his  superior  officers.  But  he  suddenly 
retired  from  the  Service,  married,  settled  in  the 
country,  and  by  degrees  had  grown  lazy  and  let 
himself  go  to  such  a  point  that  he  not  merely 
gave  up  going  out  anywhere,  but  did  not  even 
leave  his  room. 

In  a  short,  full,  hareskin  coat  and  slippers 
without  any  back  to  them,  with  his  hands  thrust 
in  the  pockets  of  his  loose  Turkish  trousers,  he 
would  walk  to  and  fro  for  days  together,  hum- 
ming or  whistling,  and  whatever  was  said  to 
57 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

him  he  would  answer  with  a  smile:  "Braoo, 
Braoo,"  by  which  he  meant,  "Bravo,  Bravo." 

"Do  you  know  Stepan  Petrovitch?"  a  neigh- 
bour would  say  to  him,  for  instance, — and 
neighbours  went  to  see  him  readily,  for  no  man 
could  have  been  more  hospitable  and  genial: — 
"Do  you  know  they  say  the  price  of  ryQ  has 
gone  up  to  thirteen  paper  roubles  at  Byelovo?" 

"Braoo,  Braoo,"  Barsukov  would  answer 
calmly,  though  he  had  just  sold  his  rye  for 
seven  and  a  half. 

"And  have  you  heard  that  your  neighbour 
Pavel  Fomitch  has  lost  twenty  thousand  at 
cards?" 

"Braoo,  Braoo,"  Barsukov  would  answer 
just  as  calmly. 

"There's  the  cattle-plague  at  Salykovo,"  an- 
other neighbour  sitting  with  them  would  ob- 
serve. 

"Braoo,  Braoo!" 

"The  Lapin  young  lady  has  run  off  with  the 
bailiff." 

"Braoo,  Braoo,  Braoo!" 

And  so  on  endlessly.  If  he  were  informed 
that  his  horse  had  gone  lame,  that  a  Jew  had 
S8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

arrived  with  goods,  that  the  clock  had  fallen 
off  the  wall,  that  the  boy  had  mislaid  his  boots 
somewhere, — the  only  comment  heard  from 
him  was  "Braoo,  Braoo,"  and  yet  there  was 
no  great  disorder  to  be  noticed  in  his  house: 
his  peasants  were  prosperous  and  he  made  no 
debts.  Barsukov's  appearance  was  preposses- 
sing: his  round  face  with  large  brown  eyes,  a 
delicate,  regular  nose  and  red  lips,  was  re- 
markable from  its  almost  youthful  freshness. 
This  freshness  was  the  more  striking  from  the 
snowy  whiteness  of  his  hair;  a  faint  smile  was 
almost  continually  playing  on  his  lips,  and  not 
so  much  on  his  lips  as  in  the  dimples  in  his 
cheeks ;  he  never  laughed,  but  sometimes,  very 
rarely,  giggled  hysterically,  and  on  every  such 
occasion  felt  unwell  afterwards.  Apart  from 
his  habitual  exclamation  he  said  very  little  and 
only  what  was  quite  essential,  with  the  utmost 
possible  brevity. 

His  daughter  Verotchka  was  very  much  like 
him  in  face,  in  her  way  of  smiling  and  in  the 
expression  of  her  dark  eyes,  which  seemed  still 
darker  from  the  delicate  tint  of  her  flaxen  hair. 
She  was  rather  short  and  charmingly  propor- 
59 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

tioned.  There  was  nothing  specially  attractive 
about  her,  but  one  had  only  to  glance  at  her 
or  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice  to  say  to  one- 
self: "That's  a  good  kind  creature."  The 
father  and  daughter  were  fond  of  each  other; 
the  whole  management  of  the  house  was  in  her 
hands  and  she  liked  looking  after  it.  .  .  .  She 
had  no  other  pursuits,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  had 
correctly  described  her  as  simple. 

When  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  and  Boris  Andrey- 
itch  called  upon  Barsukov  he  was  as  usual 
walking  up  and  down  in  his  study.  This 
study,  which  might  have  been  called  a  draw- 
ing-room and  a  dining-room,  since  visitors  were 
received  and  meals  were  served  in  it,  formed 
about  half  of  the  little  house. 

The  furniture  in  it  was  ugly  but  comfort- 
able; along  the  whole  length  of  one  of  the  walls 
stood  an  extremely  broad  and  soft  sofa  with 
a  multitude  of  cushions, — a  sofa  very  well 
known  to  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

To  tell  the  truth  one  could  lie  luxuriously 
on  that  sofa.  In  the  other  rooms  there  were 
only  chairs,  little  tables  of  one  sort  or  another, 
60 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

and  cupboards;  all  these  rooms  led  into  one 
another  and  no  one  lived  in  them.  Verotchka's 
little  bedroom  looked  into  the  garden  and  ex- 
cept for  her  neat  little  bed  and  washing  stand 
with  a  little  looking-glass  over  it  and  one  arm- 
chair there  was  no  furniture  in  it  either.  On 
the  other  hand  everywhere,  in  all  the  corners, 
there  were  bottles  of  liqueurs  and  jars  of  jam 
prepared  by  Verotchka's  own  hand. 

On  going  into  the  hall  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
would  have  sent  in  his  name  and  Boris  An- 
dreyitch's,  but  a  boy  in  a  long-skirted  coat 
merely  glanced  at  him  and  began  taking  off  his 
fur  coat  with  the  words:  "Please  walk  in, 
Sir." 

The  friends  went  into  Stepan  Petrovitch's 
study.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  introduced  Boris 
Andreyitch. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  pressed  his  hand,  articu- 
lated: "Delighted  .  .  .  very  .  .  .  you're  cold 
.  .  .  vodka?"  and  with  a  motion  of  his  head 
indicating  the  edibles  that  stood  on  a  little 
table,  he  fell  to  pacing  up  and  down  the  room 
again. 

Boris  Andreyitch  drank  off  a  little  glass  of 
6i 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

vodka.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  did  the  same  and 
they  both  sat  down  on  the  broad  sofa  with  a 
multitude  of  cushions.  Boris  Andreyitch  felt 
at  once  as  though  he  had  been  sitting  on  that 
sofa  for  ages  and  had  known  the  master  of  the 
house  for  long,  long  years.  All  Barsukov's 
visitors  were  familiar  with  that  feeling. 

He  was  not  alone  that  day;  and  indeed  he 
could  not  often  be  found  alone.  There  was 
sitting  with  him  a  pettifogging  clerk,  a  thread- 
bare hack  with  a  wrinkled  face  like  an  old 
woman's,  a  hawk  nose  and  restless  eyes,  who 
had  lately  had  a  snug  little  job  in  the  Govern- 
ment service,  but  was  at  the  moment  awaiting 
his  trial  for  some  malpractice.  Holding  on  to 
his  cravat  with  one  hand  and  the  lapel  of  his 
coat  with  the  other,  this  gentleman  was  keep- 
ing watch  on  Stepan  Petrovitch  and,  waiting 
till  the  guests  were  seated,  he  brought  out  with 
a  deep  sigh: 

"Oh,  Stepan  Petrovitch,  Stepan  Petrovitch! 

It's  easy  to  condemn  a  man ;  but  you  know  the 

saying :  'The  honest  man's  a  sinner,  the  rogue's 

a  sinner,  they  all  live  by  sin  and  so  do  we.' " 

62 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Braoo,"  Stepan  Petrovitch  was  beginning, 
but  he  checked  himself  and  commented: 

"A  nasty  saying." 

"Who  denies  it?  Of  course  it's  nasty,"  re- 
plied the  threadbare  gentleman;  "but  what 
would  you  have  one  do!  Poverty  is  not  one's 
brother,  you  know;  it  eats  the  honesty  out  of 
you.  Here  Pm  ready  to  appeal  to  these  noble 
gentlemen  if  only  they'll  be  so  good  as  to  listen 
to  the  circumstances  of  my  case.  .  .  ." 

"May  I  smoke?"  Boris  Andreyitch  asked  his 
host.     The  latter  nodded. 

"Of  course,"  the  threadbare  gentleman  con- 
tinued, "I,  too,  perhaps  have  more  than  once 
been  vexed  both  with  myself  and  the  world 
generally,  have  felt,  so  to  say,  the  generous 
indignation  .  .  ." 

"Invented  by  scoundrels,"  Stepan  Petrovitch 
interrupted. 

The  gentleman  started. 

"That  is.  .  .  .  How's  that,  Stepan  Petrov- 
itch? Do  you  mean  to  say  that  generous  in- 
dignation is  invented  by  scoundrels?" 

Stepan  Petrovitch  gave  a  nod  again. 

The  gentleman  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
63 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

suddenly  broke  into  a  cracked  laugh,  display- 
ing as  he  did  so  that  he  had  not  a  tooth  left  in 
his  head,  yet  he  spoke  fairly  clearly.  "He,  he, 
Stepan  Petrovitch,  you  always  talk  like  that. 
Our  attorney  may  well  say  of  you  that  you're 
a  regular  humourist." 

"Braoo,  Braoo!"  replied  Barsukov. 

At  that  instant  the  door  opened  and  Ve- 
rotchka  walked  in.  Moving  with  a  firm  and 
light  tread,  she  brought  in  two  cups  of  coffee 
and  a  jug  of  cream  on  a  round  green  tray. 
Her  dark-grey  dress  hung  gracefully  about  her 
slender  form.  Boris  Andreyitch  and  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  both  got  up  from  the  sofa;  she 
made  them  a  curtsey  in  response,  without  put- 
ting down  the  tray,  then  going  up  to  the  table, 
laid  her  burden  on  it  with  the  words:  "Here 
is  your  coffee." 

"Braoo,"  said  her  father.  "Two  more  cups," 
he  added,  indicating  the  visitors.  "Boris  An- 
dreyitch, my  daughter." 

Boris  Andreyitch  made  her  a  second  bow. 

"Will  you  have  coffee?"  she  asked,  looking 
quietly  straight  into  his  eyes.    "It's  an  hour  and 
a  half  to  dinner  time." 
64 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  answered  Boris 
Andreyitch. 

Verotchka  turned  to  Krupitsyn,  "And  you, 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  ?" 

"I'll  have  a  cup  too." 

"In  a  minute.  It's  a  long  time  since  I've  seen 
you,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch."  Saying  this,  Ver- 
otchka went  out. 

Boris  Andreyitch  looked  after  her  and  bend- 
ing down  to  his  friend,  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"But  she's  very  sweet  .  .  .  and  what  easy 
manners !  .  .  ." 

"That's  habit,"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  answered. 
"Why,  it's  something  hke  a  restaurant  here; 
there's  always  someone  coming  or  going." 

As  though  to  confirm  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's 
words  another  visitor  walked  into  the  room. 
This  was  a  very  corpulent,  to  use  the  old-fash- 
ioned word  that  has  been  preserved  in  our  part 
of  the  country,  full-bodied  gentleman  with  a  big 
face,  big  eyes  and  lips  and  thick  ruffled  hair. 
An  expression  of  permanent  dissatisfaction,  a 
sour  expression,  could  be  detected  in  his  coun- 
tenance. He  was  wearing  a  very  roomy  coat 
and  his  whole  person  swayed  as  he  walked. 
65 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

He  sank  heavily  onto  the  sofa  and  only  then 
said  "Good-day,"  without,  however,  addressing 
any  one  of  the  company  in  particular. 

"Vodka?"  Stepan  Petrovitch  asked  him. 

"No !  Vodka  indeed !"  answered  the  new 
guest.  "I  don't  want  vodka.  How  are  you, 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  ?"  he  added,  looking  round. 

"Good-day,  Mihey  Miheyitch,"  answered 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch;  "where's  God  brought  you 
from?" 

"Where  from?  From  town,  of  course.  It's 
only  you  lucky  fellows  who've  no  need  to  go 
to  town,  but  I,  thanks  to  the  trustees  and  to 
these  gentry,"  he  added,  jerking  his  finger  in 
the  direction  of  the  gentleman  who  was  await- 
ing his  trial,  "I've  knocked  up  all  my  horses 
trailing  off  to  the  town — confound  it!" 

"Our  humble  respects  to  Mihey  Miheyitch," 
said  the  gentleman  who  had  been  so  uncere- 
moniously included  in  the  term  "gentry." 
Mihey  Miheyitch  looked  at  him. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,  please,"  he  began,  fold- 
ing his  arms,  "when  are  you  going  to  be 
hanged?"     The  other  was   offended. 

"But  you  ought  to  be!  Upon  my  soul,  you 
66 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

ought!  The  Government  is  too  indulgent  to 
fellows  like  you.  Let  me  tell  you  that !  Why, 
does  it  trouble  you  that  you're  to  be  tried? 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  There's  only  one  thing  may 
be  annoying  now,  there's  no  haben  sie  gewesen 
now !" 

And  Mihey  Miheyitch  made  a  motion  with 
his  hand  as  though  he  had  caught  something 
in  the  air  and  thrust  it  into  his  side  pocket. 

"They've  put  a  stop  to  that!  Ah,  you  riff- 
raff!" 

"You're  always  pleased  to  be  joking,"  re- 
plied the  retired  Government  clerk,  "and  you 
will  not  take  into  consideration  that  he  who 
gives  is  free  to  give  and  he  who  takes  to  take. 
Besides  I  have  not  acted  in  this  affair  on  my 
own  initiative.  Another  person  has  taken  the 
principal  part,  as  I  have  explained.  .  .  ." 

"Of  course,"  Mihey  Miheyitch  observed 
ironically,  "the  fox  hid  under  the  harrow  from 
the  rain — not  every  drop  would  fall  on  her  any- 
way. But  you  must  own  our  police  captain 
gave  you  a  good  wigging?  Eh?  It  was  a 
sound  one?" 

The  threadbare  gentleman  winced. 
67 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"He's  a  man  quick  to  come  down  on  you," 
he  said  at  last  with  hesitation. 

"I  should  think  so!" 

"With  all  that,  though,  of  him  one 
could  .  .  ." 

"He's  a  priceless  man,  a  real  treasure," 
Mihey  Miheyitch  interrupted  him,  addressing 
Stepan  Petrovitch,  "for  dealing  with  these  fine 
fellows  and  for  drunkards,  too,  he's  a  giant." 

"Braoo,  Braoo,"  commented  Stepan  Petrov- 
itch. Verotchka  came  in  with  two  more  cups 
of  coffee  on  a  tray.  Mihey  Miheyitch  bowed 
to  her. 

"One  more,"  said  her  father. 

"Why  do  you  take  all  this  trouble  yourself  ?" 
Boris  Andreyitch  said  as  he  took  the  cup  from 
her. 

"It's  no  trouble,"  answered  Verotchka,  "and 
I  don't  want  to  leave  it  to  the  man;  it  seems 
to  me  it  will  be  nicer  so." 

"Of  course,  from  your  hands." 

But  Verotchka  did  not  hear  his  politeness"; 
she  went  out  and  came  back  at  once  with  coffee 
for  Mihey  Miheyitch. 

"Have  you  heard,"  Mihey  Miheyitch  began, 
68 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

when  he  had  emptied  his  cup,  "Mavra  Ilyi- 
nitchna  is  lying  speechless?" 

Stepan  Petrovitch  stopped  and  raised  his 
head. 

"Yes,  yes,"  Mihey  Miheyitch  went  on, 
"paralysis.  You  know  how  fond  she  was  of 
good  eating.  Well,  the  day  before  yesterday 
she  was  sitting  at  table,  and  visitors  with  her, 
they  served  cold  kvass  soup  and  she  had  just 
had  two  platesful  and  asked  for  a  third — all 
at  once  she  looked  round  and  said,  like  this 
without  any  haste,  you  know:  'Take  away  the 
soup,  all  the  people  are  green  .  .  .'  and  fell 
flop  off  her  chair.  They  flew  to  pick  her  up 
and  asked  her  what  was  the  matter  .  .  .  she 
explained  with  her  hands,  but  her  tongue 
wouldn't  work.  They  say  our  district  apothe- 
cary distinguished  himself  on  the  occasion.  .  .  . 
He  leapt  up  and  cried :  *A  doctor !  Send  for  a 
doctor!'  He  quite  lost  his  head.  And  after 
all,  what  is  his  practice?  He  simply  lives  on 
dead  bodies." 

"Bra-oo,  Bra-oo,"  Barsukov  articulated  pen- 
sively. 

"And  we're  going  to  have  kvass  soup  to- 
69 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

day,"  observed  Verotchka,  sitting  down  in  the 
corner  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

"What  with,  with  sturgeon?"  Mihey  Mi- 
heyitch  asked  quickly. 

"Yes,  with  sturgeon." 

"That's  a  capital  thing.  Here  they  say  kvass 
soup  is  not  a  good  thing  in  winter  because  it's 
a  cold  dish.  That's  nonsense,  isn't  it,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch?" 

"Absolute  nonsense,"  answered  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch. "Why,  isn't  it  warm  here  in  this 
room  ?" 

"Very  warm." 

"Then  why  shouldn't  one  eat  a  cold  dish  in 
a  warm  room?     I  don't  understand." 

"And  I  don't  understand  either." 

The  conversation  continued  for  a  good  while 
in  this  style.  The  master  of  the  house  took 
hardly  any  part  in  it  and  kept  on  walking  about 
the  room.  At  dinner  everyone  did  very  well 
indeed:  everything  was  good  though  simply 
prepared.  Verotchka  sat  at  the  head,  helped 
the  kvass  soup,  sent  round  the  dishes,  watched 
how  her  guests  were  getting  on,  and  tried  to 
anticipate  their  wants. 

70 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Vyazovnin  sat  beside  her  and  watched  her 
intently.  Verotchka  like  her  father  could  not 
speak  without  smiling  and  that  was  very  becom- 
ing to  her.  Vyazovnin  addressed  her  from  time 
to  time  with  a  question,  not  for  the  sake  of  get- 
ting any  answer  from  her  but  merely  to  see 
that  smile.  After  dinner  Mihey  Miheyitch, 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  and  the  gentleman  awaiting 
his  trial,  whose  name  was  Onufry  Ilyitch,  sat 
down  to  play  cards.  Mihey  Miheyitch  did  not 
again  speak  so  cruelly  of  him,  though  he  con- 
tinued to  banter  him ;  possibly  this  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  Mihey  Miheyitch  had  had  a  drop 
too  much  at  dinner.  He  did,  it  is  true,  de- 
clare at  every  deal  that  all  the  aces  and  trumps 
would  be  sure  to  be  Onufry's,  that  that  nettle- 
seed  would  have  some  dodge  in  shuffling,  that 
his  hands  were  made  for  plunder;  but  on  the 
other  hand  after  they  had  won  a  game  together 
Mihey  Miheyitch  quite  unexpectedly  praised 
him. 

"Well,  say  what  you  like,  you're  a  bad  lot 

of  course,  but  'pon  my  soul  I  like  you ;  in  the 

first  place,  because  that's  my  temperament,  and 

in  the  second,  because  if  one  comes  to  think 

/I 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  it  there  are  plenty  worse  than  you,  and  in- 
deed one  may  say  that  in  your  own  way  you're 
a  decent  fellow." 

"You're  pleased  to  tell  the  truth,  Mihey  Mi- 
heyitch,"  replied  Onufry  Ilyitch,  greatly  en- 
couraged by  these  words.  "The  holy  truth; 
only  persecution  of  course.  .  .  ." 

"Come,  deal,  deal,"  Mihey  Miheyitch  inter- 
rupted him.  "Persecution,  indeed!  What  per- 
secution? Thank  Gcd  you're  not  sitting  in  the 
Pugatchev  tower  in  chains.  .  .  .  Deal." 

And  Onufry  Ilyitch  proceeded  to  deal,  rap- 
idly winking  his  eyes  and  still  more  rapidly 
moistening  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand 
with  his  long  thin  tongue.  Meanwhile  Stepan 
Petrovitch  was  walking  about  the  room,  while 
Boris  Andreyitch  kept  near  Verotchka.  The 
conversation  between  them  was  fragmentary 
(she  was  continually  going  out)  and  so  in- 
significant that  it  would  be  difficult  to  repro- 
duce it.  He  asked  her  who  lived  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood, whether  she  often  went  out  visiting, 
whether  she  liked  keeping  house.  To  the  ques- 
tion what  she  was  reading,  she  answered:  "I 
ought  to  read  but  I've  no  time."  And  yet  when 
72 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

at  nightfall  a  boy  came  into  the  study  announc- 
ing that  their  horses  were  ready,  he  was  sorry 
to  be  going  away,  sorry  not  to  go  on  seeing 
those  kind  eyes,  that  bright  smile.  If  Stepan 
Petrovitch  had  thought  fit  to  ask  him  he  would 
certainly  have  stayed  the  night;  but  Stepan 
Petrovitch  did  not  do  so, — not  because  he  was 
not  pleased  with  his  new  visitor  but  because 
his  rule  was  that  if  anyone  wanted  to  stay  the 
night  he  gave  orders  at  once  himself  that  a  bed 
should  be  prepared  for  him.  Mihey  Miheyitch 
and  Onufry  Ilyitch  did  so;  they  even  slept  in 
the  same  room  and  talked  long  after  midnight. 
Their  voices  were  dimly  audible  from  the 
study;  Onufry  Ilyitch  talked  most  and  seemed 
to  be  telling  some  story  or  trying  to  prove  some- 
thing while  his  companion  merely  uttered  at 
intervals,  sometimes  in  a  dubious,  sometimes 
in  an  approving  tone :  "H'm."  Next  morning 
they  drove  away  together  to  Mihey  Miheyitch's 
estate  and  from  there  to  the  town,  also 
together. 

On  their  way  home  Boris  Andreyitch  and 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  were  for  a  long  time  silent. 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  even  dropped  asleep,  lulled 
73 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

by  the  tinkling  of  the  bell  and  the  even  mo- 
tion of  the  sledge. 

"Pyotr  Vassilyitch,"  Boris  Andreyitch  said 
at  last. 

"Well,"  said  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  half  asleep. 

"Why  is  it  you  don't  question  me?" 

"Question  you  about  what?" 

"Why,  as  you  did  the  other  times." 

"About  Verotchka,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes  \" 

"So  that's  what  you're  after!  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  meant  her  for  you?  She's  not  fit  for 
you." 

"You're  wrong  in  thinking  that;  I  like  her 
far  better  than  all  your  Emerentsiyas  and  Sofya 
Kirillovnas." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  tell  you." 

"But  come  now,  really!  She's  quite  a  sim- 
ple girl.  She  may  be  a  good  housekeeper,  it's 
true,  but  that's  not  what  you  want,  you  know." 

"Why  not?  Perhaps  that's  just  what  I'm 
looking  for." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Boris  An- 
74 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

dreyitch!  Upon  my  word!  Why,  she  doesn't 
speak  French  at  all !" 

"What  of  it?  Do  you  suppose  one  can't  do 
without  French?" 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was  silent  for  a  space. 

"I  hadn't  expected  this  at  all  .  .  .  from  you, 
that  is.  ...  I  believe  you  are  joking." 

"No,  I'm  not  joking." 

"God  knows  what  to  make  of  you  then! 
Why,  I  thought  she  was  only  suited  for  a  fel- 
low like  me.  However,  she  really  is  a  first- 
rate  girl."  And  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  straightened 
his  cap,  thrust  his  head  into  the  pillow  and  fell 
asleep. 

Boris  Andreyitch  went  on  thinking  about 
Verotchka.  He  was  haunted  by  her  smile,  by 
the  good-humoured  mildness  of  her  eyes.  The 
night  was  light  and  cold,  the  snow  glistened 
with  blue  gleams  like  diamonds;  the  sky  was 
spangled  with  stars  and  the  pleiades  twinkled 
brightly;  the  frost  crunched  and  crackled  un- 
der the  runners;  the  twigs  on  the  trees  cov- 
ered with  icy  hoarfrost  faintly  tinkled,  glitter- 
ing in  the  moonlight  as  though  they  were  made 
of  glass.  At  such  a  time  the  imagination 
75 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

works  eagerly.  Vyazovnin  experienced  this. 
He  pondered  all  sorts  of  things  before  the 
sledge  stopped  at  last  at  his  steps;  but  the 
image  of  Verotchka  never  left  his  brain  and 
secretly  accompanied  his  dreams. 

As  we  have  mentioned  already,  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  was  surprised  at  the  impression  Ve- 
rotchka had  made  on  Boris  Andreyitch,  but  he 
was  still  more  surprised  two  days  later  when 
his  friend  announced  that  he  meant  to  go  to 
Barsukov's  and  that  he  should  go  alone  if  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  were  not  disposed  to  accompany 
him.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  replied  of  course  that 
he  was  ready  and  delighted,  and  the  friends 
drove  ofif«to  Barsukov's  again,  and  again  spent 
the  whole  day  there.  As  on  the  first  occasion, 
they  found  several  visitors  whom  Verotchka  re- 
galed with  coffee  and  after  dinner  with  jam; 
but  Vyazovnin  had  more  conversation  with  her 
than  on  the  first  visit;  that  is,  he  talked  more 
to  her.  He  told  her  about  his  past  life,  about 
Petersburg,  about  his  travels, — in  fact  about 
anything  that  came  into  his  head.  She  listened 
to  him  with  quiet  interest,  continually  smiling 
and  looking  at  him,  but  never  for  a  moment 
76 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

forgot  her  duties  as  a  hostess:  she  got  up  at 
once  as  soon  as  she  noticed  that  her  visitors 
needed  anything  and  brought  them  everything 
herself.  When  she  went  away,  Vyazovnin 
looked  placidly  about  him  and  did  not  leave  his 
seat;  she  came  back,  sat  down  beside  him  and 
took  up  her  work,  and  he  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  her  again.  Stepan  Petrovitch  would 
go  up  to  them,  listen  to  Vyazovnin's  remarks 
and  mutter:  "Bra-oo,  Bra-oo,"  and  the  hours 
simply  raced  by.  This  time  the  two  friends 
stayed  the  night  and  only  went  home  late  in 
the  evening  of  the  following  day.  .  .  . 

At  parting  Vyazovnin  pressed  Verotchka's 
hand.  She  flushed  a  little.  No  man  had  ever 
pressed  her  hand  till  that  day,  but  she  thought 
that  that  was  what  they  did  in  Petersburg. 

The  two  friends  began  going  frequently  to 
see  Stepan  Petrovitch,  and  Boris  Andreyitch  in 
particular  became  quite  at  home  in  his  house. 
At  times  he  had  a  great  craving,  an  intense 
longing  to  be  there.  On  several  occasions  he 
went  alone.  He  liked  Verotchka  more  and 
more;  already  a  friendship  had  arisen  between 
them,  already  he  was  beginning  to  think  that 
77 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

she  was  too  cool  and  reasonable  a  friend. 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  left  off  speaking  to  him  of 
Verotchka  .  .  .  but  one  morning,  after  loo'king 
at  him  as  usual  for  some  time  without  speak- 
ing, he  brought  out  significantly: 

"Boris  Andreyitch." 

"Well?"  replied  Boris  Andreyitch,  and  he 
coloured  a  little  though  he  could  not  say  why. 

"There  is  something  I  wanted  to  say  to  you, 
Boris  Andreyitch.  .  .  .  Mind  you  don't  .  .  . 
er  .  .  .  it  would  be  bad,  you  know,  if  anything, 
for  instance  .  .  ." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Boris  Andreyitch. 
"I  don't  understand  you." 

"Why,  about  Verotchka.  .  .  ." 

"About  Verotchka?"  And  Boris  Andreyitch 
flushed  redder. 

"Yes.  Take  care,  you  know,  harm  is  soon 
done.  .  .  .  Wrong,  that  is  .  .  .  excuse  my 
openness;  but  I  imagine  it's  my  duty  as  a 
friend  .  .  ." 

"But  where  did  you  get  that  idea,  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch?" Boris  Andreyitch  interrupted  him. 
"Verotchka's  a  girl  of  the  strictest  principles, 
78 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

and,  besides,  there's  nothing  between  us  but 
the  most  ordinary  friendship." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Boris  Andreyitch,"  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  retorted  in  his  turn.  "How  can  a 
cultivated  man  like  you  have  a  friendship  with 
a  country  girl  who  has  never  been  outside  her 
own  four  walls?" 

"You're  at  that  again !"  Boris  Andreyitch  in- 
terrupted him  for  the  second  time.  "What  you 
drag  culture  in  for  I  can't  imagine."  Boris 
Andreyitch  was  a  little  irritated. 

"Well,  listen,  anyway,  Boris  Andreyitch," 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  said  impatiently.  "Since  it's 
come  to  this,  I  must  tell  you,  you  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  be  reserved  with  me,  but  as  for 
deceiving  me,  excuse  me,  you  don't.  I  have 
eyes  too.  Yesterday" — they  had  been  together 
at  Stepan  Petrovitch's  the  evening  before — "re- 
vealed a  great  deal  to  me.  .  .  ." 

"And  what  precisely  did  it  reveal  to  you?" 
asked  Boris  Andreyitch. 

"It  revealed  to  me  that  you  love  her  and  are 
even  jealous  over  her." 

Vyazovnin  looked  at  Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 

"Well,  and  does  she  love  me  ?" 
79 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"That  I  can't  say  for  certain,  but  it  would  be 
strange  if  she  didn't  love  you." 

"Because  I'm  cultivated,  you  mean  to  say?" 

"Both  because  of  that  and  because  you  are 
well  off.  And  your  appearance  is  attractive, 
too,  but  the  property  is  the  chief  thing." 

Vyazovnin  got  up  and  went  to  the  window. 

"How  could  you  see  that  I  was  jealous?"  he 
suddenly  asked,  turning  to  Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 

"Why,  you  were  not  like  yourself  yesterday 
till  that  scamp  Karantyev  had  gone." 

Vyazovnin  made  no  answer,  but  in  his  soul 
he  felt  that  his  friend  had  spoken  the  truth. 

This  Karantyev  was  a  student  who  had  not 
completed  his  studies,  a  good-humoured  fel- 
low not  without  intelligence  and  feeling,  but 
utterly  nonsensical  and  hopelessly  ruined.  His 
powers  had  been  dissipated  by  his  passions  in 
early  youth ;  he  had  been  left  too  young  without 
guardianship.  He  had  a  reckless  gipsy  face 
and  was  altogether  like  a  gipsy,  singing  and 
dancing  like  one.  He  fell  in  love  with  every 
woman  he  met.  Verotchka  attracted  him  very 
much.  Boris  Andreyitch  had  made  his  ac- 
quaintance at  Barsukov's  and  had  at  first  been 
80 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

very  well  disposed  towards  him;  but  on  one 
occasion,  observing  the  peculiar  expression  of 
face  with  which  Verotchka  listened  to  his  sing- 
ing, he  began  to  feel  differently  about  him. 

"Pyotr  Vassilyitch,"  said  Boris  Andreyitch, 
going  up  to  his  friend  and  standing  facing 
him,  "I  ought  to  own  ...  I  believe  you're 
right.  I  have  felt  it  for  a  long  time,  but  you 
have  completely  opened  my  eyes.  I  certainly 
am  not  indifferent  to  Verotchka;  but,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  what  of  it?  She  and  I  both  of  us 
want  nothing  dishonourable;  besides,  as  I've 
told  you  already,  I  see  no  special  signs  on  her 
part  of  a  liking  for  me." 

"Quite  so,"  replied  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  "but 
the  Evil  One  is  powerful." 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch?" 

"What  are  you  to  do  ?    Give  up  going  there." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Of  course.  .  .  .  You're  not  going  to  marry 
her!" 

Vyazovnin  was  silent  for  a  space  again. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  marry  her?"  he  ex- 
claimed at  last. 

8i 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"I've  told  you  why  already,  Boris  An- 
dreyitch;  she's  not  a  match  for  you." 

"I  don't  see  that." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  see  it,  do  as  you  think 
best.     I'm  not  your  guardian." 

And  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  began  filling  his  pipe. 

Boris  Andreyitch  sat  in  the  window  and  sank 
into  thought.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  did  not  inter- 
rupt his  musings  but  with  great  composure 
puffed  little  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  lips.  At 
last  Boris  Andreyitch  got  up  and  with  notice- 
able excitement  ordered  his  carriage. 

"Where  to?"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  asked  him. 

"To  the  Barsukovs,"  Boris  Andreyitch  an- 
swered abruptly. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  puffed  half  a  dozen  times. 

"Am  I  to  go  with  you  or  what?" 

"No,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch.  I  should  like  to  go 
alone  to-day ;  I  want  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  Verotchka  herself." 

"You  know  best." 

"So,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  saw  Boris 
Andreyitch  out,  "this  is  how  a  joke  has  turned 
to  earnest  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it  .  .  . 
82 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

and  all  through  idleness,"  he  added  as  he  set- 
tled himself  on  the  sofa. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch,  who  had  gone  home  without  awaiting 
his  friend's  return,  was  just  going  to  bed  when 
all  at  once  Boris  Andreyitch,  covered  with  pow- 
dery snow,  dashed  into  his  room  and  threw 
himself  on  his  neck. 

"My  friend,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  congratulate 
me,"  he  exclaimed.  "She  has  accepted  me  and 
the  old  man  has  given  his  consent  too.  .  .  .  It's 
all  settled!" 

"How's  that?  .  .  .  What  do  you  mean?" 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  muttered  in  astonishment. 

"I'm  going  to  get  married!" 

"To  Verotchka?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  It's  all  settled  and  arranged." 

"It  can't  be!" 

"What  a  man  you  are;  I  tell  you  it's  all 
settled." 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  hurriedly  slid  his  bare  feet 
into  slippers,  flung  on  his  dressing  gown  and 
shouted : 

"Makedoniya,  tea !"  and  added :  "Well,  since 
it's  all  settled  it's  no  use  talking  about  it;  God 
83 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

give  you  concord  and  counsel !    But  please  tell 
me  how  it  all  happened." 

"With  pleasure,  if  you  like/'  answered 
Vyazovnin,  and  began  telling  him. 

This  was  how  it  really  had  happened. 

When  Boris  Andreyitch  had  arrived  at 
Stepan  Petrovitch's,  the  latter,  contrary  to  his 
usual  habit,  had  no  visitor  with  him  and  was 
not  walking  up  and  down  the  room  but  was  sit- 
ting in  an  invalid  chair;  he  was  not  very  well. 

When  this  was  the  case  he  gave  up  talking 
altogether;  and  so  he  merely  gave  Vyazovnin 
a  friendly  nod,  first  pointing  him  to  the  table 
with  food  on  it  and  then  to  Verotchka,  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

This  was  all  Vyazovnin  wanted ;  he  sat  down 
by  Verotchka  and  began  talking  to  her  in  a  low 
voice.  They  spoke  of  Stepan  Petrovitch's 
health. 

"Pm  always  frightened/'  Verotchka  said  in 
a  whisper,  "when  he  is  unwell.  You  know 
what  he  is ;  he  doesn't  complain,  doesn't  ask 
for  anything,  you  can't  get  a  word  out  of  him. 
He'll  be  ill  and  say  nothing." 
84 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"'And  you  love  him  very  much?"  Vyazovnin 
asked  her. 

"Whom?  Father?  Yes,  more  than  anyone 
in  the  world.  God  preserve  us  from  anything 
happening  to  him.    I  beheve  I  should  die." 

"Then  it  would  be  impossible  for  you  to  part 
from  him?" 

"Part  ?    What  should  I  part  from  him  for  ?" 

Boris  Andreyitch  looked  into  her  face. 

"A^  girl  can't  live  all  her  life  in  her  father's 
house." 

"Ah — I  see  what  you  mean.  Well,  I  needn't 
trouble  then.    Who  would  have  me?" 

"I,"  Boris  Andreyitch  was  almost  saying,  but 
he  restrained  himself. 

"What  are  you  thinking?"  she  asked,  looking 
at  him  with  her  habitual  smile. 

"I  think  .  .  ."  he  replied,  "I  think  .  .  . 
that  .  .  ." 

And  suddenly  changing  his  tune,  he  asked  her 
how  long  she  had  known  Karantyev. 

"I  really  don't  remember.  .  .  .  You  see,  so 
many  of  them  come  to  see  father.  I  believe  he 
came  to  see  us  for  the  first  time  last  year." 

"Tell  me— do  you  like  him?" 
85 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"No,"  answered  Verotchka  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"Why  not?" 

"He's  so  untidy,"  she  answered  simply. 
"But  he  must  be  a  good  fellow  and  he  sings 
so  splendidly.  ...  It  stirs  one's  heart  when 
he  sings." 

"Ah!"  Vyazovnin  commented,  and  after  a 
brief  pause  he  added,  "Whom  do  you  like 
then?" 

"I  like  a  great  many  people, — I  like  you." 

"You  and  I  are  friends,  we  know,  but  is 
there  no  one  you  like  more  than  the  rest?" 

"How  inquisitive  you  are!" 

"And  you  are  very  cold." 

"How  so?"  Verotchka  asked  naively. 

"Listen,"  Vyazovnin  was  beginning.  .  .  . 
But  at  that  instant  Stepan  Petrovitch  turned 
in  his  chair. 

"Listen,"  he  went  on,  hardly  audibly,  while 
the  blood  seemed  to  be  throbbing  in  his  throat. 
"There  is  something  I  must  say  to  you,  very 
important, — only  not  here." 

"Where  then?" 

"Why,  in  the  next  room,  for  instance." 
86 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"What  is  it?  A  secret,  then?"  said  Ve- 
rotchka,  getting  up. 

"Yes,  a  secret." 

"A  secret,"  repeated  Verotchka  wonderingly 
and  she  went  into  the  next  room. 

Vyazovnin  followed  her  as  though  in  a  fever. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked  him  with 
curiosity. 

Boris  Andreyitch  meant  to  lead  up  to  the 
subject,  but  glancing  at  that  youthful  face 
beaming  with  the  faint  smile  which  he  so  loved, 
at  those  clear  eyes  gazing  at  him  with  such  a 
soft  look,  he  lost  his  head  and  quite  to  his  own 
surprise  asked  Verotchka  bluntly,  without  any 
preliminary : 

"Vera  Stepanovna,  will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"What  ?"  said  Verotchka,  turning  hot  all  over 
and  flushing  crimson  to  her  ears. 

"Will  you  be  my  wife?"  Vyazovnin  repeated 
mechanically. 

"I  ...  I  really  don't  know,  I  didn't  expect 
.  .  .  it's  so  .  .  ."  whispered  Verotchka,  stretch- 
ing out  her  hand  to  the  window-sill  to  steady 
herself, — and  all  at  once  she  rushed  out  of  the 
room  into  her  bedroom. 

87 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Boris  Andreyitch  remained  standing  where 
he  was  for  a  Uttle  while,  then  in  great  con- 
fusion went  back  to  the  study.  On  the  table 
lay  a  number  of  the  Moscow  News.  He  took 
it  up  and  began  looking  at  the  printed  lines, 
not  only  without  understanding  what  was  in 
them  but  even  without  any  idea  of  what  was 
happening  to  him  generally.  He  spent  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  in  this  condition;  but  all  at  once 
there  was  a  faint  rustle  behind  him  and  with- 
out looking  round  he  felt  that  Verotchka  had 
come  in. 

A  few  more  moments  passed;  he  stole  a 
glance  at  her  from  behind  the  pages  of  the 
Moscow  News.  She  was  sitting  in  the  window, 
turned  away  from  him,  and  she  looked  pale. 
At  last  he  plucked  up  courage  and  got  up,  went 
to  her  and  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  her. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  did  not  stir,  sitting  in  his 
low  chair  with  his  head  thrown  back. 

"Forgive  me.  Vera  Stepanovna,"  Vyazovnin 
began  with  some  effort.  "I  am  to  blame,  I 
ought  not  so  suddenly  .  .  .  and  besides  .  ,  .  I 
had  of  course  no  grounds  .  .  ." 

Verotchka  made  no  answer. 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"But  since  it  has  happened  like  this,"  Boris 
Andreyitch  went  on,  "I  should  like  to  know 
what  answer  .  .  ." 

Verotchka  gently  bowed  her  head,  her  cheeks 
flushed  again. 

"Vera  Stepanovna,  one  word." 

"I  don't  know,  really  .  .  ."  she  began,  "Boris 
Andreyitch  ...  it  depends  on  father.  .  .  ." 

"Unwell?"  Stepan  Petrovitch's  voice  asked 
suddenly. 

Verotchka  started  and  quickly  raised  her 
head.  Stepan  Petrovitch's  eyes  fastened  upon 
her  expressed  uneasiness.  She  went  up  to  him 
at  once. 

"You  are  asking  me  something,  father?" 

"Feeling  unwell?"   he  repeated. 

"Who?  .  .  .  I?  .  .  .  No.  .  .  .  What  makes 
you  think  so?" 

He  looked  at  her  intently. 

"Really  quite  well?"  he  asked  once  more. 

"Of  course;  how  do  you  feel?" 

"Braoo,  Bra-oo,"  he  said  softly  and  closed 
his  eyes  again. 

Verotchka  turned  towards  the  door,  Boris 
Andreyitch  stopped  her. 
89 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Tell  me,  anyway,  do  you  allow  me  to  speak 
to  your  father?" 

"If  you  like,"  she  whispered,  "only,  Boris 
Andreyitch,  I  think  I  am  not  a  match  for 
you." 

Boris  Andreyitch  would  have  taken  her 
hand;  but  she  evaded  him  and  went  away. 
"Strange !"  he  thought.  "She  says  exactly  the 
same  thing  as  Krupitsyn." 

Left  alone  with  Stepan  Petrovitch,  Boris  An- 
dreyitch vowed  to  explain  things  more  sen- 
sibly to  him  and  as  far  as  possible  to  prepare 
him  for  the  unexpected  proposal;  but  his  task 
turned  out  in  reality  even  more  difficult  than 
speaking  to  Verotchka. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  was  a  little  feverish  and 
in  a  state  between  brooding  and  dozing.  He 
made  reluctant  and  tardy  answers  to  the  vari- 
ous questions  and  observations  by  means  of 
which  Boris  Andreyitch  hoped  gradually  to 
lead  up  to  the  real  subject  of  the  conversa- 
tion. ...  In  short,  Boris  Andreyitch,  seeing 
that  his  hints  were  being  thrown  away,  was 
compelled  to  approach  the  subject  directly. 

Several  times  he  took  breath  as  though  pre- 
90 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

paring  to  speak,  stopped  short  and  did  not  utter 
a  word. 

"Stepan  Petrovitch,"  he  began  at  last,  "I  in- 
tend to  make  you  a  proposal  that  will  surprise 
you  very  much." 

"Bra-oo,  Bra-oo,"  Stepan  Petrovitch  replied 
calmly. 

"A  proposal  which  you  do  not  expect  in  the 
least." 

Stepan  Petrovitch  opened  his  eyes. 

"Only  please  don't  be  angry  with  me.  .  .  ." 

Stepan  Petrovitch's  eyes  opened  more  widely. 

"I  ...  I  intend  to  ask  you  for  the  hand  of 
your  daughter,  Vera  Stepanovna." 

Stepan  Petrovitch  got  up  quickly  from  his 
invalid  chair. 

"What?"  he  asked,  in  exactly  the  same  voice 
and  with  the  same  expression  of  face  as 
Verotchka. 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  compelled  to  repeat  his 
proposal. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  fixed  his  eyes  on  Vyazov- 
nin  and  looked  at  him  a  long  time  in  silence  so 
that  at  last  he  felt  awkward. 
91 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Does  Vera  know?"  Stepan  Petrovitch 
asked. 

"I  have  spoken  to  Vera  Stepanovna  and  she 
has  allowed  me  to  address  myself  to  you." 

"Were  you  speaking  to  her  just  now?" 

"Yes,  just  now." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Stepan  Petrovitch  articu- 
lated, and  he  went  out. 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  left  alone  in  the  queer 
old  man's  study.  In  a  state  of  stupor  he  gazed 
first  at  the  walls  and  then  at  the  floor,  when 
suddenly  there  was  a  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  at 
the  steps,  the  front  door  banged.  A  thick  voice 
asked:     "At  home?" 

Steps  were  heard  and  Mihey  Miheyltch,  al- 
ready known  to  the  reader,  walked  swaying 
into  the  study. 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  ready  to  die  with 
vexation. 

"How  warm  it  is  in  here !"  exclaimed  Mihey 
Miheyitch,  dropping  onto  the  sofa. 

"Ah,  how  do  you  do?  And  where's  Stepan 
Petrovitch?" 

"He's  just  gone  out;  he'll  be  back  directly." 

"It's  awfully  cold  to-day,"  observed  Mihey 
92 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Miheyitch,  pouring  himself  out  a  glass  of 
vodka.  And,  scarcely  giving  himself  time  to 
swallow  it,  he  added  briskly: 

"I've  come  from  the  town  again,  you  know." 

"From  the  town  ?"  repeated  Vyazovnin,  con- 
cealing his  emotion  with  difficulty. 

"From  the  town,"  repeated  Mihey  Miheyitch, 
"and  all  thanks  to  that  brigand  Onufry.  Only 
fancy,  he  told  me  no  end  of  tales,  held  out 
such  alluring  prospects  that  it  made  one's  mouth 
water!  'I  have  found  an  investment  for  you,' 
says  he,  'like  nothing  else  in  the  world.  You've 
simply  to  rake  the  shekels  in  by  hundreds, — 
and  the  whole  thing  ended  in  his  borrowing 
twenty-five  roubles  from  me  and  my  dragging 
myself  off  to  the  town  for  nothing.  I  quite 
knocked  up  my  horses." 

"You  don't  say  so,"  muttered  Vyazovnin. 

"I  tell  you  he's  a  brigand,  a  brigand,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  He  might  as  well  be  a  high- 
wayman with  a  bludgeon.  I  really  don't  know 
what  the  police  are  about.  If  he  goes  on  like 
this,  he  will  leave  me  without  a  half-penny, 
upon  my  soul !" 

Stepan  Petrovitch  came  into  the  room. 
93 


THE  TWO  FRIENBS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Mihey  Miheyitch  began  describing  his  adven- 
tures with  Onufry. 

"And  why  is  it  somebody  doesn't  give  him 
a  good  hiding?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Doesn't  give  him  a  hiding!"  repeated 
Stepan  Petrovitch,  and  he  suddenly  went  off 
into  a  peal  of  laughter.  Mihey  Miheyitch 
laughed  too,  looking  at  him  and  even  repeat- 
ing "Precisely,  he  ought  to  have  a  good  hiding." 
But  when  Stepan  Petrovitch  fell  on  the  sofa 
in  paroxysms  of  hysterical  laughter,  Mihey 
Miheyitch  turned  to  Boris  Andreyitch  and  turn- 
ing up  the  palms  of  his  hands,  commented: 
"There,  he  is  always  like  that :  bursts  out  laugh- 
ing, the  Lord  only  knows  what  at.  That's  his 
whimsy  I" 

Verotchka  came  in  looking  agitated  and  with 
red  eyes. 

"Papa's  not  quite  well  to-day,"  she  observed 
in  an  undertone  to  Mihey  Miheyitch. 

Mihey  Miheyitch  nodded  and  put  a  piece  of 
cheese  into  his  mouth.  At  last  Stepan  Petrov- 
itch left  off  laughing,  got  up,  heaved  a  sigh 
and  began  walking  about  the  room. 

Boris  Andreyitch  avoided  his  eyes  and  sat 
94 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

as  though  on  thorns.  Mihey  Miheyitch  fell  to 
abusing  Onufry  Ilyitch  again. 

They  had  dinner;  at  dinner,  too,  Mihey  Mi- 
heyitch was  the  only  one  who  talked;  it  was 
almost  evening  when  Stepan  Petrovitch  took 
Boris  Andreyitch  by  the  arm  and  drew  him  into 
the  other  room. 

"You  are  a  good  man?"  he  asked,  looking 
into  his  face. 

"I  am  an  honest  man,  Stepan  Petrovitch," 
replied  Boris  Andreyitch,  "that  I  can  answer 
for, — and  I  love  your  daughter." 

"You  love  her?    Really?" 

"I  love  her  and  will  try  to  deserve  her  love." 

"You  won't  get  tired  of  her  ?"  Stepan  Petrov- 
itch asked  again. 

"Never." 

Stepan  Petrovitch's  face  contracted  with  a 
look  of  pain. 

"Well  ,  .  .  mind  .  .  .  love  her  ...  I  con- 
sent." 

Boris  Andreyitch  would  have  embraced  him 

but    he     said:       "Afterwards  .  .  .  that's     all 

right,"  and  turning  away  he  moved  to  the  wall. 

Boris  Andreyitch  could  see  that  he  was  crying. 

95 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Stepan  Petrovitch  wiped  his  eyes  without 
turning  round,  then  went  back  to  the  study, 
passing  Boris  Andreyitch,  and,  without  looking 
at  him,  said  with  his  habitual  smile: 

"Please,  no  more  to-day  .  .  .  to-morrow 
.  .  .  all  .  .  .  that's  necessary.  .  .  ." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  Boris  Andreyitch  hur- 
riedly assured  him,  and  following  him  into  the 
study,  exchanged  a  glance  with  Verotchka. 

There  was  joy  in  his  soul,  but  at  the  same 
time  some  disquietude.  He  could  not  remain 
longer  at  Stepan  Petrovitch's  in  the  society  of 
Mihey  Miheyitch;  he  felt  he  must  be  alone — 
besides,  he  longed  to  tell  Pyotr  Vassilyitch. 
He  went  away  promising  to  come  back  next 
day.  As  he  said  good-bye  to  Verotchka  he 
kissed  her  hand.    She  looked  at  him. 

"Till  to-morrow,"  he  said  to  her. 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered  softly. 

"Do  you  know,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,"  Boris 
Andreyitch  said  when  he  had  finished  his  story 
and  was  pacing  up  and  down  his  friend's  bed- 
room: "What  I  think  is  that  a  young  man 
often  doesn't  marry  because  he  thinks  it  dread- 
ful to  put  his  life  into  bondage ;  he  thinks,  'Why 
96 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

should  I  be  in  a  hurry? — I've  plenty  of  time, 
perhaps  I  may  find  something  better/  and  the 
business  usually  ends  in  his  being  a  lonely  old 
bachelor  or  marrying  the  first  woman  he  comes 
across.  It's  all  due  to  pride  and  egoism.  If 
God  has  sent  you  a  sweet,  good  girl,  don't  lose 
your  chance;  be  happy  and  don't  be  too  par- 
ticular. I  shall  not  find  a  wife  better  than 
Verotchka;  and  if  she  is  somewhat  deficient  in 
regard  to  education  it  will  be  my  work  to  look 
after  that.  She  has  rather  a  phlegmatic  char- 
acter, but  that's  no  harm,  quite  the  contrary. 
That's  why  I  decided  so  quickly.  And  if  I 
have  made  a  mistake — "  he  added,  and  stopped 
short;  after  thinking  a  little,  he  went  on: 
"there's  no  great  harm  done.  Nothing  would 
have  come  of  my  life  anyway."  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  listened  to  his  friend  in  silence,  from 
time  to  time  sipping  from  a  cracked  glass 
the  very  nasty  tea  prepared  by  the  zealous 
Makedonia. 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  Boris  Andreyitch 
asked  him  at  last,  coming  to  a  standstill  before 
him.     "What  I   say  is   right,  isn't   it?    You 
agree  with  me,  don't  you?" 
97 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"The  proposal  has  been  made,"  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  rejoined  emphatically.  "The  father  has 
given  his  blessing,  the  daughter  has  not  refused 
you,  so  it's  no  use  discussing  it  further.  Per- 
haps it  really  is  for  the  best.  Now  it's  the  wed- 
ding we  must  think  about,  not  discussing  its 
wisdom;  but  morning  brings  good  counsel;  we 
will  talk  it  over  properly  to-morrow. 

"Hey!  Boy  there!  Take  Boris  Andreyitch 
down." 

"You  might  at  least  embrace  me  and  con- 
gratulate me,"  said  Boris  Andreyitch.  "What 
a  fellow  you  are,  really !" 

"Embrace  you  I  certainly  will,  with  pleas- 
ure." And  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  embraced  Boris 
Andreyitch.  "God  give  you  all  earthly  happi- 
ness !" 

The  friends  parted. 

"It's  all  because,"  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  said 
aloud  to  himself,  after  lying  for  some  time  in 
bed  and  tossing  from  side  to  side,  "it's  all  be- 
cause he  has  not  served  in  the  army !  He  has 
grown  used  to  indulging  his  whims  and  knows 
nothing  of  discipline." 
98 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

A  month  later  Vyazovnin  married  Ve- 
rotchka.  He  insisted  that  the  wedding  should 
not  be  put  off  longer.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  was 
his  best  man.  During  that  month  Vyazovnin 
went  often  to  Stepan  Petrovitch's ;  but  no 
change  was  perceptible  in  his  behaviour  to  Ve- 
rotchka  and  her  behaviour  to  him;  she  was  a 
little  more  reserved  with  him,  that  was  all.  He 
brought  her  "Yurey  Miloslavsky"  and  read 
aloud  some  chapters.  She  liked  Zagoskin's 
novel,  but  when  it  was  finished  she  did  not  ask 
for  another.  Karantyev  came  once  to  have  a 
look  at  Verotchka,  since  she  had  become  en- 
gaged to  another  man,  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  he  came  drunk;  he  kept  gazing  at  her  as 
though  he  were  going  to  say  something  but  said 
nothing. 

He  was  asked  to  sing.  He  sang  some  discon- 
solate ditty,  then  burst  into  a  gay  and  reckless 
one,  flung  down  the  guitar  on  the  sofa,  said 
good-bye  to  everyone  and,  getting  into  his 
sledge,  flung  himself  face  downwards  on  the 
hay  strewn  in  it,  burst  into  sobs  and  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
dead. 

99 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

The  day  before  the  wedding  Verotchka  was 
very  sad  and  Stepan  Petrovitch  was  low-spir- 
ited too.  He  had  hoped  that  Boris  Andreyitch 
would  consent  to  come  and  live  with  him.  The 
latter,  however,  had  not  hinted  at  this,  but  on 
the  contrary  had  suggested  that  Stepan  Petrov- 
itch might  stay  for  a  time  at  Vyazovno, 

The  old  man  had  refused;  he  was  used  to 
his  study. 

Verotchka  promised  to  visit  him  at  least  once 
a  week.  How  mournfully  her  father  answered 
her:  "Bra-oo,  Bra-oo!" 

So  Boris  Andreyitch  began  his  life  as  a  mar- 
ried man.  Verotchka,  being  an  excellent  house- 
keeper, put  his  whole  house  in  order.  He  ad- 
mired her  noiseless  but  careful  activity,  her 
mild  always  serene  rule,  called  her  "his  little 
Dutchwoman"  and  was  continually  repeating 
to  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  that  he  had  never  before 
known  what  happiness  was.  It  must  be  ob- 
served that,  from  the  wedding  day  onwards, 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  gave  up  visiting  him  so  often 
and  staying  so  long,  though  Boris  Andreyitch 
received  him  as  warmly  as  ever  and  though 
Verotchka  had  a  genuine  affection  for  him. 

lOO 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

"Your  life  is  not  the  same  now,"  he  would 
say  to  Vyazovnin  when  the  latter  reproached 
him  affectionately  for  having  grown  colder  to 
him.  "You're  a  married  man;  I'm  a  bachelor. 
I  may  be  in  your  way." 

At  first  Vyazovnin  did  not  contradict  him; 
but  by  degrees  he  began  to  notice  that  he  was 
dull  at  times  without  his  friend.  His  wife  did 
not  restrict  his  liberty  in  the  least;  on  the  con- 
trary he  sometimes  forgot  about  her  altogether 
and  for  whole  mornings  at  a  stretch  would  not 
say  a  single  word  to  her,  though  he  always 
looked  into  her  face  with  pleasure  and  tender- 
ness, though  every  time  she  passed  by  him  with 
her  light  step  he  would  catch  her  hand  and 
kiss  it,  which  invariably  drew  a  smile  to  her 
lips — the  smile  was  the  same  that  he  had  so 
loved ;  but  is  a  smile  alone  enough  ? 

They  had  too  little  in  common  and  he  began 
to  be  aware  of  it. 

"There's  no  denying  that  my  wife  has  very 
few  resources,"  thought  Boris  Andreyitch  one 
day,  as  he  sat  with  folded  arms  on  the  sofa. 

The  words  Verotchka  had  said  to  him  on  the 

lOI 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

day  of  his  proposal:  "I  am  not  a  match  for 
you,"  echoed  in  his  heart. 

"If  I  had  been  a  German  or  a  savant,"  he 
pursued  his  reflections,  "or  if  I  had  had  some 
constant  occupation  which  would  have  en- 
grossed the  greater  part  of  my  time,  such  a 
wife  would  have  been  a  godsend,  but  as  it  is! 
Can  I  have  made  a  mistake?"  .  .  .  This  last 
thought  was  more  acutely  painful  to  him  than 
he  had  expected. 

When  that  same  morning  Pyotr  Vassilyitch 
repeated  that  he  could  not  but  be  in  his  way, 
Boris  Andreyitch  could  not  restrain  himself 
and  exclaimed:  "Upon  my  word,  you're  not 
in  the  least  in  our  way;  on  the  contrary,  when 
you  are  here  we  are  both  ever  so  much  more 
lively" — he  had  almost  said  more  at  ease,  and 
it  was  certainly  true. 

Boris  Andreyitch  chatted  eagerly  to  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  exactly  as  he  had  done  before  his 
marriage ;  and  Verotchka  could  talk  to  him  too, 
while  for  her  husband  she  felt  a  great  respect, 
and,  with  all  her  unmistakable  devotion  to  him, 
did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him,  how  to  enter- 
tain him. 

ID2 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Besides,  she  saw  that  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's 
presence  enlivened  him.  It  ended  in  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  becoming  quite  an  indispensable  person 
in  the  house.  He  loved  Verotchka  as  though 
she  were  his  daughter,  and  indeed  no  one  could 
help  loving  so  kind  and  good  a  creature.  When 
Boris  Andreyitch,  with  human  weakness,  con- 
fided to  his  friend  his  secret  thoughts  and 
grievances,  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  blamed  him  se- 
verely for  his  ingratitude,  enumerated  all 
Verotchka's  virtues,  and  once  in  answer  to  a 
remark  of  Boris  Andreyitch's  that  he,  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  had  thought  that  they  were  not 
made  for  each  other,  the  latter  answered  angrily 
that  he  did  not  deserve  her. 

"I  have  found  nothing  in  her,"  muttered 
Boris  Andreyitch. 

"Found  nothing  in  her!  Why,  did  you  ex- 
pect something  extraordinary  of  her?  You've 
found  an  excellent  wife  in  her,  let  me  tell  you 
that!" 

"That's  true,"  Vyazovnin  hastily  assented. 

Everything  in  the  house  went  on  as  before 
— quietly  and  peacefully.  For  it  was  not  only 
impossible  to  quarrel  with  Verotchka,  no  mis- 
103 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

understandings  even  could  exist  between  her 
and  her  husband,  yet  the  inner  rift  was  felt  in 
everything.  So  the  effect  of  an  unseen  inter- 
nal wound  may  be  seen  in  a  man's  whole  being. 
Verotchka  had  not  the  habit  of  complaining; 
besides  she  did  not  even  in  thought  blame 
Vyazovnin  for  anything,  and  it  never  entered 
his  head  that  she  was  not  properly  satisfied  with 
her  life  with  him.  Only  two  people  clearly  un- 
derstood her  position,  her  old  father  and  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch. 

Stepan  Petrovitch  caressed  her  with  peculiar 
sympathetic  compassion  and  looked  into  her 
eyes  when  she  came  to  see  him — he  asked  her 
no  questions,  but  his  sighs  were  more  frequent 
as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  his 
"Bra-oo,  Bra-oo"  had  no  longer  the  note  of  the 
imperturbable  calm  of  a  spirit  remote  from  all 
things  earthly. 

He  seemed  to  have  become  pale  and  thin 
since  he  had  been  parted  from  his  daughter. 
What  was  passing  in  her  soul  was  no  secret  to 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  cither.  Verotchka  did  not  in 
the  least  expect  her  husband  to  pay  attention 
to  her  or  even  to  talk  to  her;  but  she  was 
104 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

fretted  by  the  thought  that  she  was  a  burden 
to  him. 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  found  her  one  day  stand- 
ing motionless  with  her  face  to  the  wall.  Like 
her  father  whom  she  greatly  resembled,  she 
did  not  like  to  display  her  tears,  and  turned 
aside  when  she  wept,  even  if  she  were  alone  in 
the  room.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  walked  softly  by 
her,  and  never  dropped  the  slightest  hint  that 
could  give  her  ground  for  supposing  that  he 
knew  why  she  was  standing  with  her  face  to 
the  wall.  But  he  gave  Vyazovnin  no  peace; 
he  did  not,  it  is  true,  utter  those  offensively 
irritating,  unnecessary  words,  "I  told  you  so !" 
— words  which,  let  us  observe  in  parenthesis,  the 
best  of  people  cannot  refrain  from  uttering  even 
in  the  moment  of  warmest  sympathy.  But  he 
attacked  Boris  Andreyitch  mercilessly  for  his 
indifference  and  ennui  and  once  affected  him  so 
much  that  he  ran  to  Verotchka  and  began  anx- 
iously scrutinising  and  questioning  her.  She 
looked  at  him  so  gently  and  answered  him  so 
calmly  that  he  went  away  inwardly  troubled 
by  Pyotr  Vassilyitch's  reproaches,  but  thank- 
105 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ful  that  Verotchka  anyway  suspected  noth- 
ing. .  .  . 

So  passed  the  winter. 

Such  relations  cannot  last  long;  they  either 
end  in  a  rupture  or  undergo  a  change,  rarely 
for  the  better.  .  .  . 

Boris  Andreyitch  did  not  become  irritable 
and  exacting  as  is  often  the  case  with  people 
who  feel  they  are  in  the  wrong ;  he  did  not  per- 
mit himself  the  cheap  and  often,  even  in  intelli- 
gent people,  coarse  pleasure  of  mockery  and 
gibing ;  he  did  not  sink  into  melancholy ;  he  sim- 
ply began  to  be  absorbed  by  the  thought  of  how 
to  get  away, — for  a  time,  of  course. 

"To  travel!"  he  repeated  to  himself  as  he 
got  up  in  the  morning.  "To  travel!"  he  whis- 
pered as  he  got  into  bed. 

He  found  an  enchanting  fascination  lay  hid 
in  those  words.  He  tried  by  way  of  distrac- 
tion visiting  Sofya  Kirillovna,  but  her  fluent 
speech  and  her  free-and-easy  manners,  her  lit- 
tle smiles  and  airs  and  graces,  seemed  to  him 
very  mawkish.  "What  a  contrast  to  Ve- 
rotchka!" he  thought,  looking  at  the  emanci- 
io6 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

pated  widow,  and  yet  the  thought  of  getting 
away  from  Verotchka  never  left  him.  .  .  . 

The  breath  of  the  coming  spring — spring 
which  beckons  and  allures  the  very  birds  from 
beyond  the  seas — dissipated  his  last  doubts  and 
set  his  head  in  a  whirl.  He  went  away  to 
Petersburg  on  the  pretext  of  some  important 
business  that  could  not  be  deferred,  though  it 
had  till  then  never  been  mentioned.  .  .  . 

As  he  parted  from  Verotchka  he  suddenly 
felt  a  tightness  and  rush  of  blood  at  his  heart : 
he  felt  sorry  for  his  sweet,  gentle  wife;  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes  and  bedewed  her  pale 
forehead,  which  he  had  only  just  touched  with 
his  lips. 

"I  shall  soon — soon  be  back!  And  I  shall 
write,  my  darling,"  he  kept  repeating. 

And  commending  her  to  the  care  and  affec- 
tion of  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  he  got  into  his  car- 
riage, touched  and  melancholy.  .  .  . 

His  melancholy  disappeared  instantly  at  the 
sight  of  the  first  softly  green  willows  on  the 
high-road,  which  lay  a  mile  and  a  half  from  his 
estate. 

An  unaccountable,  almost  boyish,  rapture  set 
107 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

his  heart  throbbing;  his  chest  heaved  and  he 
fastened  his  eyes  greedily  on  the  distance. 
"No,"  he  exclaimed :    "I  see  that — 

"  'The  fiery  steed  and  the  gentle  doe, 
Harnessed  together,  cannot  go.' " 

But  was  he  a  fiery  steed? 

Vera  was  left  alone;  but  in  the  first  place 
Pyotr  Vassilyitch  visited  her  frequently,  and 
what  was  more  her  old  father  was  induced  to 
tear  himself  from  his  beloved  abode  and  move 
for  the  time  into  his  daughter's  house. 

The  three  of  them  got  on  capitally  together ; 
their  tastes  and  their  habits  were  so  completely 
in  harmony !  And  yet  Vyazovnin  was  not  for- 
gotten by  them, — on  the  contrary,  he  served 
them  as  an  unseen  spiritual  tie.  They  were  in- 
cessantly talking  of  him,  of  his  cleverness,  his 
goodness,  his  culture  and  the  simple  good  na- 
ture of  his  behaviour.  They  seemed  to  have  be- 
come even  fonder  of  Boris  Andreyitch  in  his  ab- 
sence from  home.  The  weather  set  in  fine ;  the 
days  did  not  fly  by, — no,  they  passed  peacefully 
and  joyfully  like  high,  bright  clouds  on  a  blue 
and  clear  sky.  Vyazovnin  wrote  from  time  to 
io8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

time ;  his  letters  were  read  and  re-read  with  great 
pleasure.  In  each  of  them  he  spoke  of  his  ap- 
proaching return.  ...  At  last  one  day  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  received  the  following  letter  from  him : 

"Dear  Friend,  my  dear  kind  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch:  I  have  been  wondering  a  long  while 
how  to  begin  this  letter,  but  it  seems  that  the 
best  way  is  to  tell  you  straight  out  that  I  am 
going  abroad.  The  news  I  know  will  surprise 
you  and  even  make  you  angry:  you  could  not 
have  expected  this, — and  you  will  be  perfectly 
right  if  you  call  me  an  irresponsible  and  un- 
reasonable person;  I  do  not  mean,  indeed,  to 
defend  myself  and  even  at  this  moment  I  am 
conscious  that  I  am  blushing,  but  have  the  pa- 
tience to  hear  me  out.  In  the  first  place,  I 
am  going  for  a  very  short  time  and  in  such  so- 
ciety and  such  favourable  conditions  as  you 
can  hardly  imagine;  and  in  the  second,  I  am 
firmly  convinced  that  after  playing  the  fool 
for  the  last  time,  after  satisfying  for  the  last 
time  my  passion  for  seeing  everything  and  hav- 
ing every  experience,  I  shall  become  an  excel- 
lent husband,  and  a  stay-at-home  family  man, 
109 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

and  shall  show  that  I  know  how  to  value  the 
undeserved  kindness  of  destiny  in  presenting 
me  with  such  a  wife  as  Verotchka. 

"Please  persuade  her  of  this  too,  and  show 
her  this  letter.  I  am  not  writing  to  her  now; 
I  have  not  the  courage: — but  I  shall  certainly 
write  from  Stettin  for  which  our  steamer  is 
bound,  and  meanwhile  tell  her  that  I  am  on 
my  knees  before  her  and  humbly  beg  her  not 
to  "be  cross  with  her  stupid  husband.  Know- 
ing her  angelic  character,  I  am  certain  she  will 
forgive  me  and  I  swear  by  everything  in  the 
world  that  in  three  months,  not  a  day  later,  I 
will  be  back  at  Vyazovno  and  then  no  force  shall 
drag  me  away  till  the  end  of  my  days.  Good- 
bye or  rather  till  we  meet  soon ;  I  embrace  you 
and  kiss  the  sweet  hands  of  my  Verotchka. 

"I  shall  write  to  you  from  Stettin  where  you 
can  send  me  letters.  If  anything  unforeseen 
should  happen,  and  in  regard  to  the  manage- 
ment of  the  place  generally,  I  rely  upon  you  as 

upon  a  wall  of  stone.  „    .   ,,. 

Your  Boris  Vyazovmn. 

"P.  S. — Have  my  study  repapered  for  the  au- 
tumn. ...  Do  you  hear?  ...  Be  sure  to." 
no 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Alas,  the  hopes  expressed  by  Boris  An- 
dreyitch  in  this  letter  were  not  destined  to  be 
fulfilled. 

Owing  to  the  great  number  of  impressions 
he  received  and  things  he  had  to  do,  he  had 
not  time  to  write  to  Verotchka  from  Stettin; 
but  from  Hamburg  he  sent  her  a  letter  in 
which  he  informed  her  of  his  intention  to  visit 
— for  the  sake  of  inspecting  certain  indus- 
trial institutions  and  also  listening  to  certain 
necessary  lectures — Paris,  where  he  begged  her 
to  forward  letters,  Poste  Restante. 

Vyazovnin  arrived  in  Paris  in  the  morning 
and,  after  in  the  course  of  the  day  running 
through  the  Boulevards,  the  Tuileries,  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  and  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  even  ascending  the  Vendome  Column,  he 
dined  at  Vefeur's  with  the  dignified  air  of  an 
habitue,  and  in  the  evening  visited  the  Chateau 
des  Fleurs — to  see,  as  a  disinterested  observer, 
what  the  "can-can"  really  was  like  and  how  the 
Parisians  danced  it.  The  dance  itself  Vyazov- 
nin did  not  think  attractive;  but  one  of  the 
Parisiennes  performing  the  can-can,  a  lively, 
well-made  brunette  with  a  turned-up  nose  and 
III 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

saucy  eyes,  did  attract  him.  He  came  to  a 
standstill  near  her  more  and  more  frequently, 
exchanged  at  first  glances  with  her,  then  smiles, 
then  words.  .  .  .  Half  an  hour  later  she  was 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  him  telling  him  "son 
petit  nom" — Julie, — and  hinting  that  she  was 
hungry  and  that  nothing  could  be  better  than 
a  supper  at  the  Maison  d'Or  "dans  un  petit  cab- 
inet particulier." 

Boris  Andreyitch  was  not  at  all  hungry  him- 
self, and  indeed  supper  in  the  society  of  Mdlle. 
Julie  had  not  entered  into  his  calculations. 
.  .  .  "However,  if  that's  the  way  here,"  he 
thought,  "I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go — Par- 
tons,"  he  said  aloud, — but  at  the  same  instant 
someone  trod  very  heavily  on  his  foot.  He 
cried  out,  turned  round  and  saw  facing  him  a 
thick-set,  broad-shouldered,  middle-aged  gentle- 
man in  a  stiff  cravat  in  the  frock-coat  of  a  ci- 
vilian buttoned  all  the  way  up  and  full  trousers 
of  miHtary  cut. 

Pulling  his  hat  right  down  to  his  nose  from 
under  which  his  dyed  moustaches  fell  in  two 
little  cascades,  and  bulging  out  his  trousers 
pockets  with  the  big  fingers  of  his  hairy  hands, 

112 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

this  gentleman,  by  every  token  an  infantry 
officer,  stared  stubbornly  at  Vyazovnin.  The 
expression  of  his  yellow  eyes,  of  his  rough,  flat 
cheeks,  of  his  bluish,  prominent  jaws,  of  his 
whole  face,  was  coarse  and  insolent. 

"Was  it  you  trod  on  my  foot  ?"  said  Vyazov- 
nin. 

"Out,  Monsieur." 

"But  in  such  cases  .  .  .  people  apologise." 

"And  if  I  won't  apologise  to  you,  Monsieur 
le  Moscoznte."  Parisians  recognise  Russians 
at  once. 

"Then  did  you  wish  to  insult  me?"  asked 
Vyazovnin. 

"Old,  Monsieur.  ...  I  don't  like  the  shape 
of  your  nose." 

"Fi,  .  .  .  Le  gros  jalotix,"  murmured  Mdlle. 
Julie,  to  whom  the  infantry  officer  was  evi- 
dently not  a  stranger. 

"But  then  .  .  ."  Vyazovnin  began,  as  though 
bewildered. 

"Then  we  must  fight,"  the  officer  caught  him 
up.  "Of  course.  Very  good.  Here  is  my 
card." 

"And   here  is  mine,"   answered  Vyazovnin, 

113 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

still  bewildered  and  as  though  in  a  dream  with 
a  confused  throbbing  of  his  heart,  he  scribbled 
on  the  polished  paper  of  his  visiting  card  with 
a  little  gold  pencil  he  had  just  bought  for  his 
watch  chain,  Hotel  des  Trois  Monarques  No. 
46. 

The  officer  nodded  and  announced  that  he 
would  have  the  honour  of  sending  his  seconds 
to  "Monsieur  .  .  .  Momieur  .  .  ."  he  raised 
Vyazovnin's  card  to  his  right  eye,  "Monsieur 
de  Vazavononin"  and  turned  his  back  on  Boris 
Andreyitch,  who  at  once  left  the  Chateau  des 
Fleurs.  Mdlle.  Julie  tried  to  detain  him  but 
he  looked  at  her  very  coldly  .  .  .  she  promptly 
turned  away  from  him,  and  was  for  a  long  time 
afterwards  sitting  by  the  wall,  explaining  some- 
thing to  the  angry  officer,  who  as  before  kept 
his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets — and  did  not 
smile. 

On  getting  into  the  street,  Vyazovnin  stopped 
under  the  first  gas  lamp  he  came  to  and  for  a 
second  time  and  with  great  attention  read  the 
card  that  had  been  handed  him. 

On  it  stood  the  following  words: 
114 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

Alexandre  Lehoeuf,   capitaine   en   second   au 
Ssme  de  Ligne. 

"Is  it  possible  that  this  can  lead  to  any- 
thing?" he  thought  to  himself.  "Can  I  really 
be  going  to  fight  a  duel  ?  And  what  for  ?  And 
on  the  very  day  after  my  arrival  in  Paris! 
What  folly!" 

He  began  a  letter  to  Verotchka,  to  Pyotr  Vas- 
silyitch  and  at  once  tore  up  the  pages  he  had 
begun  and  flung  them  away. 

"Nonsense!  It's  a  farce!"  he  repeated,  and 
went  to  bed. 

But  his  thoughts  took  a  different  turn  when 
next  morning  at  breakfast  two  gentlemen  very 
much  like  Monsieur  Leboeuf,  only  younger  (all 
French  infantry  officers  have  the  same  face) 
called  upon  him  and  announcing  their  names 
(one  was  called  Monsieur  LeCoq,  the  other 
Monsieur  Pinochet,  both  were  lieutenants  "au 
8^me  de  Ligne")  introduced  themselves  to 
Boris  Andreyitch  as  the  seconds  "de  notre  ami 
Monsieur  Lehceuf  sent  by  him  to  take  all  nee-- 
essary  steps  since  their  friend  Monsieur  L»' 
bceuf  would  accept  no  apologies. 
115 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Vyazovnin  was  obliged  to  inform  Messieurs 
les  ofHcicrs,  the  friends  of  Monsieur  Leboeuf, 
that  being  a  complete  novice  in  Paris  he  had 
not  yet  had  time  to  look  round  and  provide  him- 
self with  a  second;  ("I  suppose  one  is  enough?" 
he  added;  "Quite  enough,  responded  Mon- 
sieur Pinochet),  and  therefore  he  would  have 
to  ask  Messieurs  les  oMciers  to  let  him  have 
four  hours  to  find  one. 

Messieurs  les  ofHciers  exchanged  glances, 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  consented,  however, 
and  got  up  from  their  seats. 

"Si  Monsieur  le  desire,"  Monsieur  Pinochet 
brought  out  suddenly,  stopping  short  before 
the  door  (of  the  two  seconds  he  was  obviously 
the  readier  with  his  tongue  and  he  had  been 
commissioned  to  carry  on  the  negotiations. 
Monsieur  LeCoq  merely  grunted  approvingly), 
"Si  Monsieur  le  desire,"  he  repeated  (Vyazov- 
nin was  reminded  of  Monsieur  Galisi,  his  Mos- 
cow barber,  who  often  made  use  of  that 
phrase),  "we  can  recommend  one  of  the  offi- 
cers of  our  regiment,  le  lieutenant  Barbichon, 
un  gargon  trcs  devoue,  who  would  certainly 
consent  to  do  a  sendee  a  un  gentleman  (Mon- 
ii6 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

sieur  Pinochet  pronounced  this  word  as  if  it 
were  French),  to  help  him  out  of  a  difficuUy, 
and  if  he  becomes  your  second  he  will  take 
your  interests  to  heart — prendre  a  occur  vos 
interets." 

Vyazovnin  was  at  first  amazed  at  such  a  pro- 
posal, but  reflecting  that  he  knew  no  one  in 
Paris,  thanked  Monsieur  Pinochet  and  said  he 
would  expect  Monsieur  Barbichon — and  Mon- 
sieur Barbichon  was  not  slow  in  making  his 
appearance.  This  gargon  Wcs  dcvoue  turned 
out  to  be  an  extremely  alert  and  active  person, 
declaring  that  "cet  animal  de  Lebceuf  n'en.  fait 
jamais  d'autres  .  .  .  c'est  un  Othello,  Monsieur, 
tin  veritable  Othello."  He  asked  Vyazovnin: 
"N'est-ce  pas  que  vous  desires  que  I'affaire  soit 
serieusef"  And,  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer, exclaimed: 

"Cost  tout  ce  que  je  desirais  savoir.  Laissez 
pwi  faire!"  And  he  did  in  fact  conduct  the 
affair  with  such  energy,  and  took  Vyazovnin's 
interests  to  heart  with  such  warmth,  that  four 
hours  later  poor  Boris  Andreyitch,  who  had 
no  notion  of  fencing,  was  standing  in  the  very 
middle  of  a  green  glade  in  the  Bois  de  Vin- 
117 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

cennes  with  his  coat  off  and  the  sleeves  of  his 
shirt  tucked  up,  with  a  sword  in  his  hand  two 
paces  from  his  opponent.  Bright  sunshine 
hghted  up  the  scene.  Vyazovnin  had  no  clear 
idea  of  how  he  had  come  there:  he  kept  re- 
peating to  himself :  "How  stupid  it  is !  How 
stupid  it  is!"  And  he  felt  ashamed  as  though 
he  were  taking  part  in  some  dull,  practical  joke, 
— and  an  awkward,  inwardly  hidden  grin 
played  about  his  soul  while  his  eyes  were  riv- 
etted  on  the  low  brow  and  the  cropped  black 
hair  of  the  Frenchman  who  stood  before  him. 

"Toutest  pret,"  a  lisping  voice  announced, 
"Alles,"  piped  another. 

Monsieur  Leboeuf's  face  assumed  an  expres- 
sion not  so  much  ferocious  as  predatory; 
Vyazovnin  flourished  his  sword  (Pinochet  had 
assured  him  that  his  ignorance  of  the  art  of 
fencing  gave  him  "de  grands  avantages!") 
when  all  at  once  something  extraordinary  hap- 
pened. There  was  a  rattle,  a  stamp,  a  flash — 
Vyazovnin  felt  in  his  chest  on  the  right  side 
the  presence  of  a  sort  of  cold  big  stick.  He 
wanted  to  push  it  away,  to  say  "Don't,"  but 
he  was  already  lying  on  his  back  and  experi- 
ii8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

encing  a  strange  almost  absurd  sensation  as 
though  they  were  trying  to  pull  teeth  out  of 
his  whole  body.  .  .  .  Then  the  earth  began 
softly  heaving  under  him.  ...  A  voice  said: 
"Tout  c'est  passe  dans  les  regies,  n'est-ce  pas. 
Messieurs f"  A  second  answered,  "Oh,  par- 
faitement."  And  crash!  Everything  seemed 
to  fly  round  and  then  sank  into  the  earth. 

"Verotchka!"  Vyazovnin  hardly  had  time  to 
think  with  anguish,  .  .  . 

Towards  evening  the  gargon  tres  devoue 
brought  him  to  the  hotel  des  trois  Monarques. 
He  died  in  the  night.  He  passed  away  to  that 
land  from  which  no  traveller  has  yet  returned. 
He  did  not  regain  consciousness  before  his 
death  and  only  muttered  twice:  "I'll  go  back 
directly  .  .  .  it's  nothing  ,  .  .  to  the  country 
now.  .  .  ."  The  Russian  priest  for  whom  the 
hotel-keeper  sent  gave  information  of  all  this 
to  the  Russian  embassy — and  two  days  later 
the  "unhappy  affair  with  a  Russian  visitor"  was 
in  all  the  newspapers. 

It  had  been  a  hard  and  bitter  task  for  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  to  tell  Verotchka  of  her  husband's 
letter;  but  when  the  news  of  Vyazovnin's  death 
119 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

reached  him,  he  was  utterly  distracted.  The 
first  to  read  of  it  in  the  papers  was  Mifiey 
Miheyitch,  and  he  at  once  galloped  off  to  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch,  accompanied  by  Onufry  Ilyitch 
with  whom  he  had  again  made  friends.  As 
people  usually  do,  he  began  shouting  as  soon  as 
he  got  into  the  hall:  "Only  fancy!  What  a 
disaster  \"  and  so  on. 

For  a  long  while  Pyotr  Vassilyitch  would 
not  believe  him,  but  when  no  possibility  of 
doubt  was  left  him,  he  waited  a  whole  day,  then 
set  off  at  last  to  Verotchka. 

The  mere  sight  of  him,  crushed  and  broken, 
so  alarmed  her  that  she  could  scarcely  stand 
on  her  feet. 

He  tried  to  prepare  her  for  the  fatal  news 
but  his  strength  failed  him;  he  sat  down  and 
through  his  tears  faltered:  "He  is  dead,  he 
is  dead.  .  .  ." 


A  year  has  passed.    From  the  roots  of  the 

felled  tree  new  shoots  spring  up,  the  deepest 

wound  is  healed  in  time,  life  replaces  death 

even  as  it  is  replaced  by  it, — and  Verotchka's 

1 20 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS 

heart  had  gradually  grown  easier  and  begun 
to  heal. 

Moreover  Vyazovnin  did  not  belong  to  the 
number  of  people  who  are  irreplaceable.  (And 
indeed  are  there  such  people?)  Nor  was  Ve- 
rotchka  capable  of  devoting  herself  for  ever 
to  one  feeling.  (And  indeed  are  there  such 
feelings?) 

She  had  married  Vyazovnin  without  con- 
straint and  without  great  enthusiasm.  She  had 
been  faithful  and  devoted  to  him,  but  she  had 
not  been  entirely  absorbed  in  him.  She  grieved 
for  him  genuinely,  but  not  frantically.  What 
more  would  you  have? 

Pyotr  Vassilyitch  did  not  give  up  coming 
to  see  her;  he  was  as  before  her  closest  friend, 
and  so  it  was  not  at  all  surprising  that,  being 
left  one  day  alone  with  her,  he  looked  into  her 
face  and  very  quietly  suggested  that  she  should 
be  his  wife.  .  .  , 

She  smiled  in  answer  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  him.  Their  life  after  their  marriage  went 
on  much  as  before.  There  was  no  need  to 
change  it. 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  then. 

121 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Old  Barsukov  is  living  with  them  and  grows 
younger  every  year.  He  is  never  many  steps 
apart  from  his  grandchildren,  of  which  there 
are  three  already;  two  girls  and  a  boy.  He 
even  talks  to  them,  especially  to  his  favourite, 
the  dark-eyed,  curly-headed  boy  who  has  been 
named  in  his  honour  Stepan.  The  Httle  rogue 
is  very  well  aware  that  his  grandfather  adores 
him  and  so  ventures  upon  mimicking  how  he 
walks  about  the  room  exclaiming  "Bra-oo, 
Bra-oo."  This  bit  of  mischief  always  excites 
the  greatest  merriment  in  the  house.  Poor 
Vyazovnin  is  not  forgotten  to  this  day.  Pyotr 
Vassilyitch  honours  his  memory,  always  speaks 
of  him  with  peculiar  feeling  and  at  every  op- 
portunity is  sure  to  say  that  the  dear  fellow 
was  fond  of  this,  or  had  the  habit  of  doing 
that.  Pyotr  Vassilyitch,  his  wife  and  all  his 
household  lead  a  very  monotonous  life,  quiet 
and  peaceful;  they  are  happy  .  .  .  for  there  is 
no  other  happiness  on  earth. 

1853. 


122 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S   STORY 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S   STORY 

.  .  .  Twenty  years  ago  it  was  my  lot  to  make 
an  unofficial  tour  of  inspection  of  the  rather 
numerous  estates  belonging  to  my  aunt.  The 
parish  priests,  with  whom  I  considered  it  my 
duty  to  make  acquaintance,  turned  out  all  to 
be  rather  alike  and  seemed  as  though  they  had 
all  been  made  on  the  same  pattern,  but  finally, 
in  almost  the  last  estate  that  I  inspected,  I 
found  a  priest  who  was  unlike  the  others.  He 
was  a  very  old,  almost  decrepit  man,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  the  earnest  entreaties  of  his 
parishioners  who  loved  and  respected  him,  he 
would  long  before  have  asked  to  be  relieved  of 
his  duties.  I  was  struck  by  two  peculiarities 
in  Father  Alexey  (that  was  the  priest's 
name).  To  begin  with,  he  not  merely  re- 
frained from  asking  anything  for  himself  but 
declared  in  so  many  words  that  he  needed  notli- 
ing;  and  in  the  second  place,  I  had  never  seen 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

in  any  human  face  such  a  look  of  sadness  and 
complete  detachment — such  a  look  of  being  ut- 
terly "broken,"  as  it  is  called.  The  features 
of  his  face  were  of  the  ordinary  country  type; 
a  wrinkled  forehead,  little  grey  eyes,  a  thick 
nose,  a  wedge-shaped  beard,  a  swarthy,  sun- 
burnt skin.  But  the  expression,  the  expres- 
sion! There  was  but  a  faint  melancholy  ghm- 
mer  of  life  in  his  lustreless  eyes;  his  voice,  too, 
seemed  colourless  and  scarcely  living.  I  was 
taken  ill  and  laid  up  for  a  few  days;  Father 
Alexey  used  to  come  and  see  me  in  the  eve- 
nings— not  to  talk  but  to  play  a  game  of  cards 
called  "fools."  Playing  cards  seemed  to  en- 
tertain him  even  more  than  me.  One  evening 
after  having  been  made  "the  fool"  several 
times  in  succession,  at  which  Father  Alexey 
was  much  gratified,  I  began  talking  of  his  past 
life,  of  the  troubles  which  had  left  on  him 
such  unmistakable  traces.  Father  Alexey  held 
back  for  a  long  time,  but  ended  by  telling  me 
his  story.  He  must  have  taken  a  liking  to  me 
or  he  would  not  have  been  so  open  with  me. 

I  will  try  and  repeat  his  story  in  his  own 
words.     Father  Alexey  spoke  very  simply  and 
126 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

clearly,  without  any  clerical  or  provincial  man- 
nerisms or  phrases.  I  have  observed  more  than 
once  that  Russians  of  all  classes  who  have  gone 
through  a  great  deal  and  have  learned  resigna- 
tion express  themselves  just  in  that  language. 


...  I  had  a  good  and  sensible  wife  (was 
how  he  began) ;  I  loved  her  from  my  heart  and 
we  had  eight  children,  but  almost  all  of  them 
died  when  they  were  little.  One  of  my  sons 
became  a  bishop  and  died  not  long  ago  in  his 
diocese;  about  my  other  son,  Yakov,  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  now.  I  sent  him  to  the  semi- 
nary in  the  town  of  T.  and  soon  began  re- 
ceiving the  most  gratifying  reports  of  him:  he 
was  the  top  of  his  class  in  all  the  subjects! 
At  home  as  a  child  he  had  been  remarkable 
for  his  studiousness  and  modesty;  sometimes 
you  would  hear  nothing  of  him  all  day  ...  he 
would  be  sitting  at  his  book,  reading.  He  never 
caused  his  mother  or  me  the  slightest  annoy- 
ance; he  was  always  a  good  boy.  Only  some- 
times he  was  too  thoughtful  for  his  age,  his 
health  was  frail.     One  day  something  strange 

12.^ 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

happened  to  him.  He  was  ten  years  old  at 
the  time.  He  left  home  at  dawn — it  was  the 
eve  of  St.  Peter's  day — and  was  away  almost 
the  whole  morning.  At  last  he  came  back. 
My  wife  and  I  asked  him  where  he  had  been. 
"I  went  for  a  walk  in  the  forest,"  he  told  ns, 
"and  there  I  met  a  little  green  old  man  who 
talked  to  me  a  great  deal  and  gave  me  such 
delicious  nuts." 

"What  little  green  old  man?"  we  asked  him. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said;  "I  have  never  seen 
him  before.  He  is  a  little  hunchbacked  old 
man,  he  keeps  laughing  and  his  feet  are  never 
still — and  he  is  green  as  a  leaf  all  over." 

"What  ?"  we  said ;  "was  his  face  green  too  ?" 

"Yes,  his  face,  and  his  hair  and  even  his 
eyes." 

Our  son  had  never  told  a  lie,  but  this  time 
my  wife  and  I  were  doubtful. 

"You  must  have  fallen  asleep  in  the  forest 
in  the  heat  and  dreamed  of  the  old  man." 

"I  didn't  go  to  sleep,  not  a  wink,"  he  said. 
"Why,  don't  you  believe  me  ?  Why,  I  have  one 
of  the  nuts  left  in  my  pocket." 

Yakov  took  the  nut  out  of  his  pocket  and 
128 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

showed  it  us.  It  had  a  small  kernel  some- 
thing like  a  chestnut  with  a  rough  skin ;  it  was 
not  like  our  ordinary  nuts.  I  put  it  away,  I 
wanted  to  show  it  to  the  doctor  .  .  .  but  it 
was  lost,  I  could  not  find  it  afterwards. 

Well,  we  sent  him  to  the  seminary,  and,  as 
I  have  told  you  already,  he  delighted  us  with 
his  success.  So  my  wife  and  I  expected  he 
would  turn  out  well.  When  he  came  home  for 
his  holidays  it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  him: 
there  was  so  much  goodness  in  his  face  and 
there  was  no  fault  you  could  find  with  him. 
Only  he  was  thin  and  there  was  no  proper 
colour  in  his  face.  Well,  he  reached  his  nine- 
teenth year  and  his  studies  were  nearly  over. 
And  all  at  once  we  got  a  letter  from  him.  He 
wrote  to  us,  "Father  and  mother,  do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  allow  me  to  take  up  a  secular 
calling,  my  heart  is  not  in  the  vocation  of  a 
priest,  I  am  terrified  of  the  responsibility,  I 
am  afraid  of  sin — doubts  have  begun  to  stir 
in  me !  Without  your  parental  permission  and 
blessing  T  shall  not  venture  on  anything;  but 
I  will  tell  you  one  thing:  I  am  afraid  of  my- 
self, for  I  have  begun  to  think  a  great  deal." 
129 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

I  must  tell  you,  sir,  I  was  terribly  grieved  at 
this  letter;  it  was  like  a  stab  in  the  heart,  for 
I  saw  I  should  not  have  anyone  to  take  my  place 
after  me.  My  elder  son  was  a  monk,  and  this 
one  wanted  to  leave  the  priesthood  altogether. 
It  was  a  grief  to  me,  too,  because  for  nearly  two 
hundred  years  the  priests  in  this  parish  have 
been  of  our  family !  However,  I  thought  it  was 
no  use  kicking  against  the  pricks ;  it  seemed  that 
this  was  ordained  for  him.  What  sort  of  pas- 
tor would  he  make  if  he  had  let  doubts  assail 
him !  I  took  council  with  my  wife  and  I  wrote 
to  him  in  this  sense:  "Yakov,  my  son,  think 
it  over  well,  measure  ten  times  before  you  cut 
once;  there  are  great  difficulties  in  a  secular 
calling,  cold  and  hunger  and  contempt  for  our 
class !  And  you  must  understand  that  no  one 
will  give  you  a  helping  hand;  mind  you  don't 
repent  too  late!  My  desire,  as  you  know,  has 
always  been  that  you  should  succeed  me  here; 
but  if  you  really  doubt  of  your  vocation  and 
your  faith  has  been  shaken — it  is  not  for  me  to 
try  and  compel  you.  God's  will  be  done! 
Your  mother  and  I  do  not  refuse  you  our 
blessing." 

130 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

Yakov  answered  me  with  a  grateful  letter. 
"You  have  relieved  me,  father,"  he  wrote;  "it 
is  my  intention  to  devote  myself  to  a  learned 
career — and  I  have  help  promised  me;  I  shall 
enter  the  University  and  become  a  doctor,  for 
I  feel  a  great  inclination  for  science."  I  read 
Yasha's  letter  and  was  more  grieved  than  ever ; 
and  soon  I  had  no  one  to  share  my  sorrow : 
my  old  wife  caught  cold  about  that  time  and 
died — whether  of  the  cold  or  because  the  Lord 
took  her  in  His  mercy,  I  cannot  tell.  I  wept 
and  wept  in  my  solitary  bereavement — but 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  So  it  was  to  be,  it 
seems.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  be  under 
the  soil  too  .  .  .  but  the  earth  was  hard  .  .  . 
it  v/ould  not  open.  And  I  was  expecting  my 
son,  for  he  sent  me  word  'before  I  go  to  Mos- 
cow I  shall  come  home  to  see  you.'  And  he 
did  indeed  come  home,  but  he  did  not  stay  long. 
Something  seemed  urging  him  on ;  it  seemed  as 
though  he  longed  to  fly  to  Moscow,  to  his  be- 
loved University!  I  began  questioning  him 
about  his  doubts  and  asked  him  what  was 
the  reason  of  them,  but  I  could  not  get 
much  talk  out  of  him:  his  mind  was  pos- 
131 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

sessed  by  one  idea — and  that  was  all !  I  want 
to  help  my  fellow  creatures,  he  said.  Well,  he 
went  away — he  scarcely  took  a  farthing  with 
him — nothing  but  a  few  clothes.  He  had  great 
confidence  in  himself !  And  not  without  good 
reason.  He  passed  the  examination  brilliantly, 
became  a  student,  got  lessons  in  private  fam- 
ilies. .  .  .  He  was  good  at  Greek  and  Latin. 
And,  would  you  believe  it,  he  actually  sent 
me  money.  I  felt  a  little  more  cheerful — 
not  on  account  of  the  money,  of  course, — I  sent 
it  back  to  him  and  scolded  him  too;  I  was 
cheered  because  I  saw  he  would  do  well.  But 
my  cheerfulness  did  not  last  long. 

He  came  home  for  his  first  vacation.  And — 
it  was  strange — I  hardly  knew  my  Yakov.  He 
had  become  so  depressed,  so  gloomy — there  was 
no  getting  a  word  out  of  him.  And  his  face 
was  changed  too — he  looked  almost  ten  years 
older.  He  had  always  been  of  a  retiring  dis- 
position, that's  true;  the  least  thing,  and  he 
would  be  shy  and  blushing  like  a  girl.  .  .  . 
But  if  he  raised  his  eyes  you  could  see  that 
his  soul  was  serene.  Now  it  was  not  the  same 
thing,  though.  He  was  not  shy  but  like  some 
132 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

wild  creature,  like  a  wolf,  and  he  looked  at 
everyone  from  under  his  brows.  Not  a  smile, 
not  a  greeting,  like  a  stone!  When  I  tried  to 
question  him  he  would  either  say  nothing  or 
growl  at  me.  I  began  to  wonder  whether — 
God  forbid — he  had  taken  to  drinking,  or 
whether  he  had  given  way  to  gambling — or 
whether  he  had  got  into  some  trouble  through 
weakness  in  regard  to  women.  In  youth  the 
spell  of  love  is  potent  and  there  are  sure  to  be 
bad  examples  and  temptations  in  a  big  town 
like  Moscow. 

But  no,  there  was  nothing  of  the  sort  to  be 
seen.  He  drank  nothing  but  water  or  kvass; 
had  no  eyes  for  the  fair  sex — and  had  nothing 
to  do  with  people  in  general.  And  what  was 
bitterer  than  anything,  he  no  longer  put  the 
same  confidence  in  me,  he  seemed  indifferent, 
as  though  he  was  sick  of  everything  belonging 
to  him.  I  would  turn  the  conversation  on  his 
studies,  on  the  University,  but  I  could  get  no 
real  answer  out  of  him.  He  would  go  to  church 
but  there  was  something  strange  about  that 
too :  everywhere  else  he  was  morose  and  sullen 
but  in  church  he  looked  as  though  he  were  grin- 
133 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ning  all  the  time.  He  spent  six  weeks  with  me 
like  that  and  went  back  to  Moscow  again.  He 
wfote  to  me  twice  from  Moscow — and  it  seemed 
to  me  from  his  letters  as  though  he  were  com- 
ing to  himself  again.  But  picture  my  amaze- 
ment, sir !  Suddenly  in  the  very  depth  of  win- 
ter, just  before  Christmas,  he  came  home. 
How?  Why?  In  what  way?  I  knew  that 
there  was  no  vacation  at  that  time. 

"Have  you  come  from  Moscow  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"And  how  .  .  .  about  the  University?" 

"I  have  given  up  the  University." 

"Given  it  up?" 

"Yes." 

"For  good?" 

"Yes,  for  good." 

"Are  you  ill  then,  or  what,  Yakov  ?" 

"No,  father,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  ill;  only 
don't  worry  me  with  your  questions,  father,  or 
I  shall  go  away  from  here  and  you  will  never 
see  me  again." 

Yakov  said  he  was  not  ill  but  I  was  horrified 
at  the  look  of  his  face.  His  cheeks  were  drawn 
so  that  the  bones  struck  out,  he  was  all  skin 
134 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

and  bones,  his  voice  had  a  hollow  note  like  a 
barrel,  and  his  eyes  .  .  .  good  God,  what 
eyes !  Fierce,  wild,  continually  roving  so  that 
you  could  never  catch  them;  his  brows  were 
knit,  his  lips,  too,  seemed  twisted  on  one 
side.  .  .  .  What  had  become  of  my  beloved 
Joseph,  my  gentle  boy  ?  I  couldn't  imagine.  Is 
he  out  of  his  mind  ?  I  wondered.  He  wandered 
about  like  an  uneasy  spirit,  did  not  sleep  at 
night  and  all  of  a  sudden  would  stare  into  a 
corner  and  seem  to  grow  stiff  with  terror.  .  .  . 
It  was  uncanny!  Though  he  did  threaten  me 
that  he  would  not  stay  if  I  asked  him  questions, 
yet  I  was  his  father.  My  last  hope  was  being 
shattered  and  was  I  to  keep  silent?  One  day, 
choosing  my  time,  I  began  imploring  Yakov 
with  tears,  entreating  him  for  the  sake  of  his 
mother,  "Tell  me,  your  father  in  flesh  and  in 
spirit,  Yasha,  what  is  wrong  with  you?  Don't 
destroy  me,  explain,  open  your  heart!  Have 
you  slain  some  Christian  soul,  perhaps?  Then 
repent !" 

"Well,  father,"  he  said  all  at  once  (it  was  in 
the  evening),  "you  have  touched  my  heart;  I 
135 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

will  tell  you  the  whole  truth!     I  have  hurt  no 
other  soul,  but  my  own  is  being  lost." 

"In  what  way?" 

"It's  like  this  .  .  ." — and  Yakov  raised  his 
eyes  to  me  for  the  first  time — "for  the  last 
four  months,"  he  began,  but  all  at  once  his 
voice  broke  and  he  began  breathing  hard. 

"What  is  it  for  the  last  four  months?  Tell 
me,  don't  torture  me." 

"For  the  last  four  months  I  have  been  seeing 
him." 

"mm!    What  him?" 

"Why,  him,  whose  name  one  can't  utter  at 
night." 

I  turned  cold  all  over  and  began  to  tremble. 

"What?"  I  said,  "do  you  see  himf" 

"Yes." 

"And  do  you  see  him  now  ?'* 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

And  I  did  not  dare  to  turn  round  myself, 
and  we  both  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"Over  there,"  he  said,  and  showed  me  with 
his  eyes,  "over  there,  in  the  corner." 
136 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

I  plucked  up  my  spirit  and  looked  into  the 
corner;  there  was  nothing  there! 

"But  there's  nothing  there,  Yakov,  really !" 

"You  don't  see  him,  but  I  do." 

I  looked  again — again  there  was  nothing.  I 
suddenly  thought  of  the  little  old  man  in  the 
wood  who  gave  him  the  nut. 

"What  is  he  like?"  I  said.    "Green?" 

"No,  not  green — black." 

"With  horns?" 

"No,  he  is  like  a  man,  but  all  black." 

As  Yakov  spoke,  his  mouth  was  twisted  so 
that  his  teeth  showed ;  he  was  pale  as  death  and 
he  huddled  up  to  me  in  terror ;  his  eyes  seemed 
as  though  they  were  starting  out  of  his  head 
but  he  still  looked  into  the  corner. 

"That's  the  shadow  makes  you  fancy  it,"  I 
said ;  "it's  the  blackness  of  the  shadow  and  you 
take  it  for  a  human  form." 

"Not  at  all !  I  see  his  eyes ;  there,  he  is  show- 
ing the  whites  of  his  eyes,  there,  he  is  lifting 
his  hands  and  beckoning." 

'^akov,  Yakov,  you  should  try  and  pray;  it 
would  break  the  spell.    Let  the  Lord  arise  and 
His  enemies  be  scattered  !" 
.137. 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"I  have  tried,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  no  use." 

"Wait,  wait,  Yakov,  don't  be  faint-hearted ;  I 
will  burn  incense,  I  will  say  a  prayer,  I  will 
sprinkle  holy  water  around  you." 

Yakov  merely  waved  his  hand  in  despair. 

"I  don't  believe  in  your  incense  nor  in  your 
holy  water;  they  are  not  a  hap'orth  of  use  to 
me  now.  There's  no  parting  from  him  for  me 
now.  Since  he  came  to  me  on^'  cursed  day  in 
summer  he  has  been  my  constant  visitor  and 
there  is  no  getting  rid  of  him.  Understand 
that,  father,  and  don't  be  surprised  at  my  be- 
haviour— and  don't  torment  me." 

"What  day  did  he  come  to  you?"  I  asked, 
and  I  kept  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  over 
him.  "Was  it  when  you  were  writing  to  me 
about  your  doubts?" 

Yakov  put  aside  my  hand. 

"Leave  me  alone,  father,"  he  said,  "don't 
make  me  angry,  for  fear  worse  may  happen.  I 
ami  not  far  from  laying  hands  on  myself." 

You  can  imagine,  sir,  what  it  was  for  me  to 
hear  that !  I  remember  I  cried  all  night.  How 
have  I  deserved  the  wrath  of  God?  I  wondered. 

Here  Father  Alexey  took  a  check  handker- 
138 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

chief  out  of  his  pocket,  blew  his  nose  and 
stealthily  wiped  his  eyes. 

"A  sad  life  we  had  after  that!"  he  went  on. 
"My  mind  was  full  of  nothing  else  but  the 
dread  that  he  should  run  away  or — God  forbid 
— do  himself  some  mischief.  I  kept  watch  over 
every  step  he  took  but  I  was  afraid  of  talking 
to  him. 

"At  that  time  there  was  living  near  us  a 
lady,  the  widow  of  a  colonel,  called  Marfa 
Savvishna.  I  had  a  great  respect  for  her,  for 
she  was  a  gentle  and  sensible  woman,  though 
she  was  young  and  of  prepossessing  appear- 
ance. I  used  to  visit  her  often  and  she  did  not 
despise  me  for  being  a  priest.  In  my  grief  and 
misery,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  I  went  and 
told  her  all  about  it.  At  first  she  was  horrified 
and  quite  overwhelmed ;  and  then  she  began  to 
think.  For  a  long  time  she  sat  silent ;  and  then 
she  expressed  a  desire  to  see  my  son  and  talk 
to  him.  And  I  felt  at  once  that  I  must  do  as 
she  wished,  for  it  was  no  feminine  curiosity 
that  prompted  her  request,  but  something  else. 
When  I  got  home  I  began  persuading  Yakov 
"Come  with  me  to  see  the  colonel's  lady."  He 
139 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

wouldn't  hear  of  it.  "I  won't,"  he  said,  "noth- 
ing would  induce  me!  What  could  I  talk  to 
her  about?"  He  even  shouted  at  me.  How- 
ever, I  succeeded  in  persuading  him  at  last  and, 
putting  the  horse  in  the  sledge,  I  took  him  to 
Marfa  Savvishna  and,  as  arranged,  left  him 
alone  with  her.  I  was  surprised  myself  that 
he  had  agreed  so  soon.  "Never  mind,  we  shall 
see  what  comes  of  it,"  I  thought.  Three  or  four 
hours  later  my  Yakov  came  back. 

"Well,"  I  asked  him,  "how  did  you  like  our 
neighbour  ?" 

He  made  no  answer.  I  tried  again.  "She  is 
a  virtuous  lady,"  I  said,  "I  suppose  she  was 
kind  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "she  is  not  like  other  people." 
I  saw  he  seemed  to  be  softer,  and  I  ventured 
to  ask  him  about  his  affliction.  The  look  in 
Yakov's  eye  was  like  the  lash  of  a  whip — and 
again  he  said  nothing.  I  did  not  trouble  him 
further  and  went  out  of  the  room;  an  hour 
later  I  went  to  the  door,  looked  through  the 
key-hole — and  what  do  you  think?  My  Yakov 
was  asleep.  He  was  lying  asleep  on  his  bed.  I 
crossed  myself  several  times.  May  God  shower 
140 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

every  blessing  upon  Marfa  Savvishna!  I 
thought.  So  the  dear  woman  had  succeeded 
in  touching  his  hardened  heart ! 

Next  day  I  saw  Yakov  take  his  cap.  I 
thought  of  asking  where  he  was  going,  but  no 
— better  not  ask  ...  no  doubt  it  is  to  her! 
And  it  really  was  to  Marfa  Savvishna  that 
Yakov  went,  and  he  stayed  longer  still;  and 
the  next  day  he  went  again,  and  then  a  day 
later — again !  My  spirit  began  to  revive  for  I 
saw  a  change  in  my  son — his  face  was  different 
and  one  could  look  into  his  eyes — he  did  not 
turn  away.  His  depression  was  still  there,  but 
the  despair,  the  horror  had  gone.  But  I  had 
hardly  begun  to  be  more  hopeful  when  every- 
thing was  shattered  again.  Yakov  became  like 
a  wild  creature  again,  there  was  no  going  near 
him.  He  sat  shut  up  all  day  in  his  room  and 
went  no  more  to  the  colonel's  widow.  Had  he 
offended  her  in  some  way,  I  wondered,  and  had 
she  forbidden  him  the  house?  But  no,  I 
thought;  though  he  is  afflicted  he  would  not 
venture  on  that,  and,  besides,  she  is  not  that 
sort  of  woman.  I  could  not  refrain  from  ask- 
ing him  at  last : 

141 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"What  about  our  neighbour,  Yakov?  You 
seem  to  have  quite  forgotten  her." 

And  he  positively  shouted  at  me: 

"Our  neighbour  ?  Do  you  want  him  to  laugh 
at  me?" 

"What?"  I  said. 

But  he  clenched  his  fists  and  was  quite 
savage. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "he  used  only  to  stand  there 
but  now  he  has  taken  to  laughing  and  grinning ! 
Get  away,  go !" 

To  whom  he  addressed  those  words,  I  don't 
know ;  I  could  hardly  stagger  out  of  the  room, 
I  was  so  frightened.  Only  imagine;  his  face 
was  as  red  as  copper,  he  was  foaming  at  the 
mouth,  his  voice  was  hoarse  as  though  some- 
one was  suffocating  him!  I  went  off,  feeling 
utterly  desolate,  to  Marfa  Savvishna  that  very 
day  ...  I  found  her  in  great  distress.  Her 
very  appearance  was  changed;  she  was  thinner 
in  the  face.  But  she  would  not  talk  to  me  about 
my  son.  She  only  said  one  thing,  that  no  hu- 
man help  could  be  of  any  avail.  "You  must  pray, 
father."  And  then  she  gave  me  a  hundred 
roubles  for  the  poor  and  sick  of  my  parish,  and 
142 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

again  repeated  "pray."  My  God,  as  though  I 
did  not  pray  day  and  night  as  it  was ! 

Father  Alexey  took  out  his  handkerchief 
again  and  wiped  away  his  tears,  this  time 
openly ;  after  a  brief  pause  he  went  on  with  his 
sad  story. 

After  that  we  went  from  bad  to  worse,  like 
a  snowball  rolling  down  hill ;  we  could  see  there 
was  a  precipice  at  the  bottom,  but  we  could 
not  stop  ourselves.  And  there  was  no  con- 
cealing it ;  there  was  great  commotion  in  the 
whole  parish  because  the  priest's  son  was  pos- 
sessed by  the  devil.  People  said  that  the  au- 
thorities ought  to  be  informed  of  it.  And  they 
would  have  informed  them,  no  doubt,  but  my 
parishioners — God  bless  them  for  it — were 
sorry  for  me.  Meanwhile  the  winter  was  over 
and  spring  had  come.  And  the  Lord  sent  us 
such  a  beautiful  fine  spring  as  even  the  old 
people  did  not  remember :  the  sun  shone  all  day, 
it  was  warm  and  still.  And  a  happy  thought 
came  to  me,  to  persuade  Yakov  to  go  with  me 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  St.  Mitrofany's  at  Voronezh. 
"If  that  last  resource  is  of  no  avail,"  I  thought, 
"then  the  only  hope  is  the  grave." 

143 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

A^ell,  I  was  sitting  one  evening  on  the  steps 
of  the  porch;  there  was  a  glow  of  sunset  in 
the  sky,  the  larks  were  singing,  the  apple  blos- 
som was  out,  the  grass  was  green.  ...  I  sat 
and  wondered  how  to  tell  Yakov  of  my  plan. 
All  at  once  I  saw  him  coming  out  on  to  the 
steps;  he  stood  and  looked,  heaved  a  sigh  and 
squatted  on  the  step  beside  me.  I  was  quite 
frightened  with  joy  but  I  did  not  say  a  word. 
And  he  sat,  looked  at  the  sunset  and  was  silent 
too.  And  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  he  were 
in  a  softened  mood.  The  wrinkles  were 
smoothed  on  his  forehead,  even  his  eyes  were 
clearer  ...  it  looked  as  though  tears  were 
almost  coming  into  them.  Seeing  such  a  change 
in  him,  I  confess  I  grew  bolder.  "Yakov,"  I 
said,  "hear  what  I  have  to  say  and  don't  be 
angry."  And  I  told  him  of  my  plan  of  how 
we  should  go  on  foot  together  to  St.  Mitro- 
fany's — it  was  about  a  hundred  miles  from  us 
to  Voronezh — and  how  pleasant  it  would  be 
for  the  two  of  us  getting  up  before  the  sunrise 
to  go  on  and  on,  in  the  cool  of  the  spring 
through  the  green  grass  in  the  high-road;  and 
I  told  him  that  if  we  fall  down  and  pray  at 
144 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

the  shrine  of  the  saint,  perhaps — who'  knows — 
the  Lord  God  may  have  mercy  on  us  and  he 
may  be  healed,  of  which  there  have  been  many 
examples.     And   imagine   my   happiness,    sir! 

"Very  good,"  said  Yakov,  and  he  did  turn 
round  but  kept  looking  at  the  sky.  "I  agree. 
Let  us  go." 

I  was  overwhelmed.  "My  dear,"  I  said,  "my 
darling,  thank  you !"     He  asked  me : 

"When  are  we  going?" 

"To-morrow  if  you  like,"  I  said. 

So  next  day  we  set  off.  We  put  wallets  on 
our  backs,  took  staves  in  our  hands  and  started. 
We  walked  for  seven  whole  days ;  and  all  the 
time  the  weather  was  propitious.  It  was  won- 
derful !  There  was  no  rain  and  it  was  not  too 
hot;  the  flies  did  not  bite  us  and  the  dust  was 
not  annoying.  And  my  Yakov  looked  better 
every  day.  I  must  tell  you  that  in  the  open 
air  Yakov  never  saw  him  but  he  felt  his  pres- 
ence behind  him,  just  at  his  back,  or  his 
shadow  would  glide  by  him,  which  troubled  my 
son  very  much.  But  this  time  nothing  of  the 
kind  happened;  and  at  the  inns  where  we 
stayed  the  night  he  saw  nothing  either.     We 

145 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

did  not  talk  much  but  how  happy  we  were, 
especially  I !  I  saw  my  poor  boy  coming  back 
to  life.  I  cannot  describe,  sir,  what  I  felt  then, 
Well,  we  reached  Voronezh  at  last.  We  washed 
and  made  ourselves  clean  and  went  to  the  Ca- 
thedral, to  the  shrine  of  the  saint.  For  three 
whole  days  we  scarcely  left  the  Cathedral.  How 
many  special  services  we  had  said  for  us,  how 
many  candles  we  set  up !  and  all  went  smoothly 
and  well;  our  days  were  devout,  our  nights 
were  tranquil;  my  Yasha  slept  like  a  baby. 
He  began  talking  to  me  of  his  own  accord.  He 
would  ask  me,  "Father,  do  you  see  anything?" 
while  he  smiled.  "I  see  nothing,"  I  would  re- 
ply. "Nor  I  either,"  he  would  say.  What 
more  could  I  desire?  My  gratitude  to  the 
saint  knew  no  bounds. 

Three  days  passed,  and  I  said  to  Yakov: 
"Well,  now,  my  boy,  things  are  better;  it  is 
a  happy  day  for  us.  There  is  only  one  thing 
left  to  do :  make  your  confession,  and  take  the 
sacrament;  and  then  let  us  go  home  in  God's 
name  and  after  a  good  rest  and  working  on 
the  land  to  restore  your  strength,  we  can  begin 
to  look  about  us  and  find  a  post  or  something. 
146 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

Marfa  Savvishna  will  be  sure  to  help  us  in 
that." 

"No,"  said  Yakov,  "why  should  we  trouble 
her  ?  I  will  take  her  a  ring  from  St.  Mitrof any's 
shrine." 

I  was  quite  carried  away. 

"Mind  you  take  a  silver  and  not  a  gold  one, 
not  a  betrothal  ring,"  I  said. 

My  Yakov  flushed  and  only  repeated  we  must 
not  trouble  her,  but  he  agreed  to  everything 
at  once. 

We  went  next  day  to  the  Cathedral;  my 
Yakov  went  to  confession — and  how  earnestly 
he  prayed  before  that! — and  then  he  went  to 
the  sacrament.  I  stood  a  little  apart  and  could 
hardly  feel  the  earth  under  my  feet.  The 
angels  in  heaven  are  not  happier  than  I  was! 
Only  I  looked  and  wondered  what  it  meant: 
my  Yakov  had  taken  the  sacrament  but  he  did 
not  go  to  drink  the  wine  afterwards !  He  stood 
with  his  back  to  me. 

"Yakov,"  I  said  to  him,  "why  are  you  stand- 
ing still?" 

He  turned  round  sharply ;  and  would  you  be- 
lieve it,  I  stepped  back,  I  was  so  frightened; 
147 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

his  face  sometimes  looked  dreadful  but  now 
it  had  become  savage  and  terrible.  He  was 
pale  as  death,  his  hair  was  standing  on  end,  his 
eyes  were  squinting  .  .  .  my  voice  failed  me 
from  terror,  I  tried  to  speak  but  could  not — 
I  almost  swooned.  And  he  simply  dashed  out 
of  the  church.  I  followed  him  ...  he  went 
straight  to  the  inn  where  we  had  slept  the  night, 
put  his  wallet  on  his  back  and  set  off.  "Where 
are  you  going?"  I  shouted.  "Yakov,  what  is 
the  matter  with  you?  Stop,  wait!"  But  not 
a  word  did  Yakov  say  in  answer,  he  ran  like 
a  hare  and  it  was  impossible  to  overtake  him. 
He  vanished.  I  turned  back  at  once,  hired  a 
cart — I  was  all  of  a  shake  and  could  say  nothing 
but  Lord,  Lord!  And  I  did  not  understand 
what  had  happened  to  us.  I  made  my  way 
home,  for  I  felt  sure  that  he  had  gone  there. 
And  I  did  in  fact  come  upon  him  striding  along 
the  high-road,  four  miles  from  the  town.  I 
overtook  him,  jumped  out  of  the  cart  and  ran 
up  to  him,  "Yasha!  Yasha!"  He  stopped, 
turned  round  facing  me,  but  kept  his  eyes  on 
the  ground  and  his  mouth  tightly  shut.  And 
whatever  I  said  to  him  he  stood  like  a  post  and 
148 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

one  could  only  see  he  was  breathing.  And  at 
last  he  set  off  along  the  road  again.  What 
could  I  do?    I  trudged  after  him. 

Oh,  what  a  journey  that  was,  sir!  Our  re- 
turn was  as  awful  as  our  journey  to  Voronezh 
had  been  joyful.  If  I  began  talking  to  him 
he  would  turn  round  and  snap  with  his  teeth 
like  a  tiger  or  hyaena.  I  do  not  know  how  it 
was  I  did  not  go  out  of  my  mind  then !  At  last 
one  night,  in  a  peasant's  smoky  hut  he  sat  on 
the  sleeping  shelf,  dangling  his  legs  and  look- 
ing about  him;  I  fell  on  my  knees  before  him 
and  wept  and  bitterly  prayed  to  him:  "Don't 
kill  your  old  father  outright,  don't  drive  him 
to  despair — tell  me  what  has  happened  to  you !" 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  me — though  till  then  he 
had  looked  as  though  he  had  not  seen  who  was 
before  him — and  all  at  once  he  began  to  speak, 
and  in  such  a  voice  that  it  is  ringing  in  my  ears 
till  now. 

"Listen,  father,"  he  said,  "do  you  want  to 
know  the  whole  truth?  Here  it  is  for  you. 
When  I  took  the  sacrament,  as  you  remember, 
and  while  the  consecrated  element  was  still  in 
my  mouth,  he  suddenly  stood  before  me  as 
149 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

though  he  had  sprung  out  of  the  ground  (in 
the  church,  in  full  daylight!)  and  whispered  in 
my  ear  (and  he  has  never  spoken  to  me  before) 
'Spit  it  out  and  stamp  on  it!'  I  did  so — I  spat 
it  out  and  trod  on  it.  And  so  now  I  am  lost 
forever,  for  every  crime  is  forgiven  but  not 
the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost." 

And  uttering  these  awful  words,  my  son  fell 
on  the  shelf  while  I  sank  down  on  the  floor  of 
the  hut.    My  legs  gave  way  under  me. 

Father  Alexey  was  silent  for  an  instant  and 
put  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

But  why  should  I  worry  you  and  myself  any 
longer  (he  went  on).  My  son  and  I  dragged 
ourselves  home,  and  soon  after  that  his  end 
came  and  I  lost  my  Yakov.  For  some  days 
before  his  death  he  neither  ate  nor  drank — he 
kept  walking  up  and  down  the  room  repeating 
that  his  sin  could  not  be  forgiven  .  .  .  but 
he  did  not  see  him  any  more.  "He  has  ruined 
my  soul,"  he  said,  "why  should  he  come  any 
more?"  And  as  soon  as  Yakov  took  to  his  bed 
he  sank  into  unconsciousness,  and  so,  without 
penitence,  like  a  senseless  worm,  he  passed  from 
this  life  into  eternity. 

150 


FATHER  ALEXEY'S  STORY 

But  I  don't  want  to  believe  that  the  Lord 
will  pass  stern  judgment  on  him  .  .  . 

And  one  reason  why  I  cannot  believe  it  is 
that  he  looked  very  beautiful  lying  in  the  coffin; 
he  seemed  to  have  grown  quite  young  again 
and  looked  like  my  Yakov  of  old  days.  His 
face  was  so  pure  and  gentle,  his  hair  curled  in 
ringlets  and  there  was  a  smile  on  his  lips. 
Marfa  Savvishna  came  to  look  at  him — she 
said  the  same.  She  put  flower<?  all  round  him 
and  she  put  flowers  on  his  heart,  and  she  put 
a  stone  on  his  grave  at  her  own  expense. 

And  I  was  left  alone.  And  that  is  why,  sir, 
you  have  detected  great  sorrow  in  my  face. 
It  will  never  pass  away — it  never  can. 

I  wanted  to  say  some  word  of  comfort  to 
Father  Alexey  .  .  .  but  I  could  not  find  any- 
thing to  say. 

We  parted  soon  afterwards. 

Paris,  1877. 


I5i 


THREE   MEETINGS 


"^hrj 


Ci^ 


J9 


THREE   MEETINGS 


Passa  que'  colli  e  vieni  allegramente, 
Non  ti  curar  di  tanta  compania — 
Vieni,  pensando  a  me  segretamente — 
Ch'io  t'accompagna  per  tutta  la  via. 


There  was  nowhere  I  used  to  go  so  often  to 
shoot  in  the  summer  as  to  the  village  of  Glin- 
noye,  which  was  fifteen  miles  from  my  own 
estate.  Perhaps  the  best  place  for  game  in  our 
whole  district  was  near  that  village.  After 
going  through  all  the  surrounding  thickets  and 
fields,  towards  the  end  of  the  day  I  invariably 
turned  into  a  marsh  close  by,  the  only  one  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  from  there  went  back 
to  my  hospitable  host,  the  elder  of  the  village, 
with  whom  I  always  used  to  put  up  for  the 
night. 

From  the  marsh  to  Glinnoye  it  is  not  more 
than  a  mile  and  a  half.    The  road  runs  by  the 


^ 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

valley,  except  that  halfway  one  has  to  climb 
a  small  hill.  On  the  top  of  that  hill  lies  a 
homestead  consisting  of  a  small,  uninhabited 
manor-house  and  garden.  It  almost  always 
happened  to  me  to  pass  by  it  in  the  full  glow 
of  the  sunset  and  I  remember  that  this  house 
with  its  nailed-up  windows  reminded  me  of  a 
blind  old  man  who  has  come  out  to  warm  him- 
self in  the  sun.  He  sits,  poor  dear,  close  to 
the  road.  The  light  of  the  sun  has  long  ago 
passed  into  unchanging  darkness  for  him  but 
he  feels  it  on  his  raised  and  outstretched  face 
and  on  his  warmed  cheeks.  It  seemed  as  though 
no  one  had  lived  in  the  house  itself  for  years ; 
but  in  the  tiny  lodge  in  the  garden  there  was 
a  decrepit  house-serf  who  had  received  his 
freedom,  a  tall,  stooping,  grey-headed  old  man 
with  an  expressive  and  immobile  face.  He  was 
always  sitting  on  a  little  bench  in  front  of  the 
one  little  window  in  the  lodge,  looking  with 
mournful  dreaminess  into  the  distance,  and  on 
seeing  me  he  would  rise  a  little  from  his  seat 
and  bow  with  the  deliberate  dignity  that  dis- 
tinguishes old  house-serfs  belonging  to  the  gen- 
156 


THREE  MEETINGS 

eration  not  of  our  fathers,  but  of  our  grand- 
fathers. 

I  used  to  speak  to  him  but  he  was  not 
fond  of  talking:  all  I  learned  from  him  was 
that  the  place  on  which  he  was  living  belonged 
to  the  granddaughter  of  his  old  master,  a  widow 
who  had  a  younger  sister;  that  they  both  lived 
in  towns  beyond  the  sea  and  that  they  never 
showed  themselves  at  home;  that  he  himself 
would  like  to  end  his  days  as  soon  as  might  be 
because  "one  goes  on  munching  bread  till  one 
is  weary ;  one  has  been  doing  it  so  long."  The 
old  man's  name  was  Lukyanitch. 

One  day  I  somehow  lingered  late  in  the 
fields;  I  had  come  upon  a  good  deal  of  game, 
and  it  was  a  good  day  for  shooting — from  early 
morning  still  and  grey  as  though  full  of  the 
feeling  of  evening.  I  wandered  far,  and  it  was 
not  merely  getting  dusk  but  the  moon  had  risen, 
and  night,  as  the  saying  is,  had  long  hung  over 
the  sky,  when  I  reached  the  familiar  house. 
I  had  to  walk  along  beside  the  fence  of  the 
garden.  .  .  . 

There  was  perfect  stillness  all  around.    .    .    . 

I  crossed  the  high-road,  cautiously  made  my 
157 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

way  through  the  dusty  nettles  and  leaned 
against  the  low  hurdle.  The  little  garden  all 
fragrant  and  dewy  lay  perfectly  still  before  me, 
all  lighted  up,  and,  as  it  were,  soothed  to  rest  by 
the  silver  rays  of  the  moon;  laid  out  in  the 
old-fashioned  style,  it  consisted  of  one  oblong 
plot.  Little  straight  paths  met  at  a  round 
flower-bed  in  the  very  centre,  thickly  over- 
grown with  asters.  It  was  surrounded  by  an 
even  border  of  tall  lime-trees  except  at  one 
part  where  through  an  opening  about  fourteen 
feet  wide  between  the  trees  I  saw  the  low- 
pitched  house  with,  to  my  surprise,  two  win- 
dows lighted  up.  Young  apple-trees  rose  here 
and  there  above  the  lawn;  the  soft  blue  of  the 
night  sky  showed  through  their  slender  branches 
bathed  in  the  slumbering  moonlight;  before 
each  apple-tree  its  faint  chequered  shadow 
lay  on  the  silvery  grass.  On  one  side  of  the 
garden  the  lime-trees,  flooded  with  pale,  vivid, 
motionless  light,  were  a  blur  of  dull  green;  on 
the  other  side  they  stood  all  black  and  opaque ; 
a  strange,  suppressed  rustle  arose  from  time  to 
time  in  their  thick  foliage;  they  seemed  to  be 
158 


THREE  MEETINGS 

calling  one  to  the  paths  beneath  them,  to  be 
beckoning  one  to  their  dark  canopy. 

The  whole  sky  was  spangled  with  stars ;  their 
soft  blue  radiance  flowed  mysteriously  from  on 
high;  they  seemed  gazing  with  gentle  attention 
at  the  far-away  earth.  Little,  delicate  clouds 
floated  now  and  again  across  the  moon  and  for 
an  instant  changed  its  peaceful  light  to  a  vague 
but  luminous  mist.  .  .  .  Everything  was 
slumbering.  The  air,  warm  and  fragrant,  did 
not  stir;  only  from  time  to  time  it  quivered  as 
water  quivers  at  the  fall  of  a  twig.  There  was 
a  feeling  of  languor,  of  yearning  in  it.  .  .  . 
I  bent  over  the  fence;  a  red  field  poppy  lifted 
its  straight  stalk  above  the  rank  grass  before 
me,  and  a  great  round  drop  of  night  dew  glit- 
tered with  a  dark  light  in  its  open  cup.  Every- 
thing was  slumbering,  everything  lay  luxuri- 
ously  and  seemed  to  be  gazing  upwards,  waiting 
without  stirring.  .  .  .  What  was  this  warm, 
not  yet  sleeping  night  awaiting? 

It  was  waiting  for  a  sound;  a  living  voice 

was  what  that  listening  silence  awaited — but  all 

was   still.     The  nightingales  had  long  ceased 

singing,  and  the  sudden  hum  of  a  beetle  flying 

159 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

by,  the  faint  splash  of  a  tiny  fish  in  the  pool 
at  the  end  of  the  garden  beyond  the  lime-trees, 
the  drowsy  note  of  a  startled  bird,  the  far-away 
cry  in  the  fields, — so  far  away  that  the  ear 
could  not  distinguish  whether  it  was  the  cry  of 
a  man,  a  beast  or  a  bird, — the  short,  quick  thud 
of  hoofs  upon  the  road — all  these  faint  sounds, 
these  rustles,  only  deepened  the  stillness.  .  .  . 
My  heart  yearned  with  an  indescribable  feel- 
ing that  was  akin  to  the  expectation  or  memory 
of  happiness;  I  dared  not  stir,  I  stood  motion- 
less before  the  motionless  garden,  bathed  in 
moonlight  and  dew,  and,  I  do  not  know  why, 
gazed  fixedly  at  those  two  windows  dimly  red 
in  the  soft  half  shadow,  when  suddenly  a  chord 
rang  out  in  the  house, — it  rang  out  and  rolled 
away  like  a  wave.  .  .  .  The  sensitively  reso- 
nant air  responded  with  an  echo  ...  I  could 
not  help  starting. 

A  woman's  voice  rang  out  after  the  chord. 
...  I  began  listening  greedily — and  .  .  .  can 
I  express  my  amazement?  .  .  .  two  years  be- 
fore in  Italy  at  Sorrento  I  had  heard  the  same 
song,  the  same  voice  .  .  .  yes,  yes.  .  .  . 

"Vieni,  pensando  a  me  segretamente.  .  .  ." 
i6o 


THREE  MEETINGS 

It  was  the  same,  I  knew  those  strains.  .  .  . 
It  had  happened  hke  this:  I  was  returning 
home  after  a  long  walk  on  the  sea-shore. 
I  was  walking  rapidly  along  the  street;  night 
had  fallen — the  magnificent  night  of  the  South, 
not  still  and  mournfully  pensive  like  ours,  no! 
all  bright,  luxurious  and  lovely  as  a  happy 
woman  in  the  flower  of  her  youth;  the  moon 
shone  with  incredible  brilliance,  the  glittering 
stars  seemed  quivering  in  the  dark-blue  sky, 
the  black  shadows  stood  out  sharply  against  the 
earth  that  looked  almost  yellow  in  the  bright 
light.  On  both  sides  of  the  street  stretched 
the  stone  walls  of  the  gardens,  orange-trees 
lifted  their  crooked  branches  above  them,  the 
golden  globes  of  the  heavy  fruit  could  just  be 
seen  hidden  among  the  tangled  leaves,  or  stood 
out  vividly,  displayed  in  all  their  richness  by 
the  moon.  On  many  of  the  trees  there  was 
still  the  tender  whiteness  of  the  flowers;  the 
air  was  saturated  with  languorous  fragrance, 
powerful,  poignant  and  almost  oppressive,  yet 
indescribably  sweet. 

I  walked  along  and  I  must  confess  I  had 
grown  so  used  to  all  these  marvels  that  I  thought 
i6i 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  nothing  but  getting  quickly  home  to  my 
hotel,  when  all  at  once  from  a  little  pavilion 
built  right  upon  the  wall  beside  which  I  was 
hurrying  there  came  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
voice.  It  was  singing  a  song  I  did  not  know, 
and  in  its  sound  there  was  a  note  of  such  eager 
summons,  it  seemed  so  full  of  the  passionate 
and  joyful  expectation  expressed  in  the  words 
of  the  song  that  I  could  not  help  stopping  short 
at  once  and  raising  my  head.  There  were  two 
windows  in  the  pavilion  but  the  blinds  were 
down  in  both  and  only  a  pale  light  jEiltered 
through  their  narrow  chinks.  After  repeating 
twice  "zneni,  vieni"  the  voice  died  away.  I 
heard  tlie  faint  twang  of  strings,  as  though  of 
a  guitar  falling  on  the  carpet,  there  was  a  light 
rustle  of  skirts,  a  faint  creak  of  the  floor. 

The  streaks  of  light  vanished  from  one  win- 
dow. .  .  .  Someone  from  within  came  up  to 
it  and  leaned  over  it.  I  stepped  back  two  paces. 
All  at  once  the  blinds  rattled  and  were  thrust 
back;  a  graceful  woman  dressed  all  in  white 
rapidly  thrust  her  charming  head  out  of  the 
window  and,  stretching  out  her  arms  to  me,  said : 
"Sei  tuf*  I  was  taken  aback,  I  did  not  know 
162 


THREE  MEETINGS 

what  to  say,  but  at  the  same  instant  the  un- 
known lady  darted  back  with  a  faint  cry,  the 
blind  was  dropped  and  the  light  in  the  pavilion 
grew  even  dimmer,  as  though  it  had  been  car- 
ried off  into  another  room.  I  stood  motion- 
less and  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  came  to 
myself.  The  face  of  the  woman  who  had  so 
suddenly  appeared  before  me  was  strikingly 
beautiful.  I  had  caught  too  hurried  a  glimpse 
of  it  to  be  able  to  recall  at  once  each  separate 
feature,  but  the  general  impression  was  un- 
utterably vivid  and  deep.  ...  I  felt  at  that 
time  that  I  should  not  forget  that  face  all  my 
life. 

The  moonlight  fell  straight  upon  the  wall 
of  the  pavilion,  on  the  window  at  which  she  had 
shown  herself  and,  my  God !  how  magnificently 
her  great  dark  eyes  had  shone  in  its  radiance, 
what  a  heavy  wave  of  half  loose,  black  hair 
fell  on  the  curve  of  her  lifted,  shapely  shoulder ! 
What  wealth  of  shy,  luxurious  softness  in  the 
soft  bending  of  her  waist,  what  a  caress  in  her 
voice  when  she  called  me — in  that  hurried  but 
resonant  whisper !  After  standing  for  some 
time  on  the  same  spot  I  walked  a  little  aside 
163 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

in  the  shadow  of  the  opposite  wall  and  fell  to 
gazing  at  the  paviHon  with  a  sort  of  stupid 
bewilderment  and  expectation.  I  listened  .  .  . 
listened  with  strained  attention  ...  I  fan- 
cied now  someone  softly  breathing  at  the  dark- 
ened window,  now  a  rustle  and  a  soft  laugh. 
At  last  there  came  the  sound  of  far-away  foot- 
steps .  .  .  they  came  closer;  a  man  of  about 
the  same  height  as  myself  appeared  at  the  end 
of  the  street  and  went  hurriedly  up  to  a  little 
gate,  which  I  had  not  noticed  before,  close  to 
the  pavilion,  without  looking  round,  knocked 
twice  with  the  iron  ring,  waited  a  little,  knocked 
again,  and  sang  in  an  undertone,  "Ecco  ri- 
dente.  .  .  ."  The  gate  was  opened  ...  he 
noiselessly  glided  in.  I  started,  shook  my 
head,  and  with  a  gesture  of  perplexity  morosely 
pulled  my  hat  over  my  eyes  and  discontentedly 
set  off  home.  Next  day  quite  fruitlessly  and 
in  the  very  heat  of  the  day  I  walked  for  two 
hours  up  and  down  the  street  by  the  pavilion 
and  that  evening  I  left  Sorrento  without  hav- 
ing visited  Tasso's  house. 

The  reader  may  well  imagine  the  amazement 
with  which  I  was  instantly  overcome  when  I 
164 


THREE  MEETINGS 

heard  the  same  voice,  the  same  song  in  the 
steppe,  in  one  of  the  remotest  parts  of  Rus- 
sia. ...  As  then  it  was  night;  as  then  the 
voice  rang  out  from  a  Hghted,  unknown  room ; 
as  then  I  was  alone.  My  heart  beat  violently. 
"Isn't  it  a  dream?"  I  thought.  And  then  I 
heard  again  the  last  "Vicni.  .  .  ."  Would  the 
window  open?  Would  the  woman  show  her- 
self? The  window  was  opened.  At  the  win- 
dow a  woman  appeared.  I  recognised  her  at 
once  though  there  was  the  dibtance  of  fifty 
paces  between  us,  though  a  light  cloud  veiled 
the  moon.  It  was  she,  my  unknown  lady  of 
Sorrento.  But  she  did  not  as  before  stretch  her 
bare  arms  out  of  the  window ;  she  softly  folded 
them  and,  leaning  them  on  the  window-sill,  fell 
to  gazing  into  the  garden  silently,  without  mov- 
ing. Yes,  it  was  she;  those  were  her  features 
which  I  could  never  forget,  those  were  the  eyes 
of  which  I  had  never  seen  the  like.  As  before, 
a  full  white  dress  enfolded  her  limbs.  She 
looked  a  little  plumper  than  at  Sorrento.  Every- 
thing about  her  was  fragrant  of  the  confidence 
and  repose  of  love,  of  the  triumph  of  beauty, 
soothed  by  happiness.  For  a  long  while  she  did 
165 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

not  stir,  then  looked  back  into  the  room  and  sud- 
denly drawing  herself  up  exclaimed  three  times 
in  a  loud  and  ringing  voice:  "Addio!"  The 
lovely  sounds  floated  far,  far  away,  and  for  a 
long  time  their  vibrations  lingered,  growing 
fainter  and  dying  away  above  the  lime-trees  in 
the  garden  and  in  the  fields  behind  me  and  in 
all  directions.  For  some  moments  all  the  coun- 
try round  me  was  full  of  that  woman's  voice, 
everything  was  ringing  in  response  to  it — was 
ringing  with  it.  She  closed  the  window  and  a 
few  minutes  later  the  light  in  the  house  was 
put  out. 

As  soon  as  I  recovered  myself — which  I  con- 
fess was  not  very  quickly — I  walked  at  once 
beside  the  garden  towards  the  lodge,  went  up 
to  the  closed  gates  and  looked  over  the  fence. 
Nothing  exceptional  could  be  seen  in  the  yard; 
a  carriage  was  standing  in  the  corner  under  a 
shed.  The  fore  part  of  it,  bespattered  with  dry 
mud,  looked  white  in  the  moonlight.  The  shut- 
ters in  the  house  were  closed  as  before.  I  for- 
got to  say  I  had  not  visited  Glinnoye  for  about 
a  week.  For  over  half  an  hour  I  walked  up 
and  down  before  the  fence  in  perplexity,  so 
i66 


THREE  MEETINGS 

that  at  last  I  attracted  the  attention  of  the  old 
house-dog;  he  did  not  bark,  however,  but  only 
looked  at  me  from  his  seat  under  the  gate  with 
extraordinary  irony  in  his  screwed-up,  purblind 
eyes.  I  understood  his  hint  and  made  off. 
But  I  had  not  gone  half  a  mile  before  I  heard 
the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  behind  me  .  .  . 
a  few  moments  later  a  man  on  a  black  horse 
dashed  by  me  at  a  quick  trot.  Rapidly  turn- 
ing his  face  towards  me,  so  that  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  an  eagle  nose  and  handsome  mous- 
tache  under  a  cap  pulled  forward  on  his  fore- 
head, he  took  the  road  to  the  right  and  imme- 
diately vanished  behind  the  copse. 

"So  that  is  he,"  I  thought  and  my  heart  was 
strangely  stirred.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  recog- 
nised him;  his  figure  certainly  reminded  me  of 
the  man  whom  I  had  seen  go  in  at  the  gate  of 
the  garden  in  Sorrento.  Half  an  hour  later  I 
was  at  Glinnoye,  at  the  elder's.  I  woke  him 
up  and  at  once  began  asking  him  who  had  come 
to  that  house.  He  answered  me  with  an  effort 
that  the  ladies  who  owned  it  had  arrived. 

"What  ladies  ?"  I  asked  impatiently. 
167 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Why,  the  ladies,  to  be  sure,"  he  answered 
very  listlessly. 

"But  what  sort  of  ladies  ?" 

"Why,  like  any  ladies,  to  be  sure." 

"Russian?" 

"Why,  what  else  should  they  be  ?  Russian  to 
be  sure." 

"Not  foreigners?" 

"Eh?" 

"Is  it  long  since  they  arrived?" 

"That  I  couldn't  say." 

"Are  they  rich?" 

"That  we  can't  tell.     Maybe  they  are." 

"Did  not  some  gentleman  come  with  them?" 

"A  gentleman?" 

"Yes,  a  gentleman." 

The  elder  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  brought  out,  yawning.  .  .  . 
"No-oo,  no  .  .  .  gentleman  ...  no  gentleman, 
I  think,    I  can't  say,"  he  added  suddenly. 

"And  what  sort  of  neighbours  are  there  liv- 
ing here  ?" 

"What  sort  of  neighbours?  Why,  all  sorts, 
to  be  sure." 

"All  sorts? — and  what's  their  name?" 
168 


THREE  MEETINGS 

"Whose  name?  The  ladies'  or  the  neigh- 
bours' ?" 

"The  ladies'." 

The  elder  heaved  a  sigh  again. 

"What's  their  name?"  he  muttered.  "Good- 
ness knows  what  their  name  is !  The  elder  one, 
I  fancy,  is  Anna  Fyodorovna  and  the  other 
.  .  .  No,  I  don't  know  what  the  other's  name 
is." 

"Well,  what  is  their  surname,  anyway?" 

"Surname  ?" 

"Yes,  surname,  family  name." 

"Family  name  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  But  I  really 
don't  know  it." 

"Are  they  young?" 

"Well,  no,  not  that." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  the  younger  one  will  be  over  forty."' 

"That's  all  fibs." 

The  elder  was  silent  for  a  space. 

"Well,  you  know  best.     We  can't  say." 

"There,  you  are  at  it  again  !"  I  exclaimed  with 

vexation.    Knowing  by  experience  that  when  a 

Russian  takes  to  answering  in  that  way  there 

is  no  possibility  of   getting  anything  sensible 

169 


THE  TWO  FRIENBS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

out  of  him  (moreover  my  host  had  only  just 
lain  down  to  sleep  and  at  every  answer  he  gave 
a  faint  lurch  forward,  opening  his  eyes  wide 
with  babyish  wonder,  and  with  difficulty  part- 
ing his  lips  smeared  with  the  honey  of  the  first 
sweet  sleep),  I  made  a  gesture  of  despair  and, 
refusing  supper,  went  to  the  barn. 

For  a  long  time  I  could  not  sleep.  "What  is 
she?"  I  was  continually  asking  myself.  "A 
Russian?  If  she  is  Russian  why  does  she  speak 
Italian?  .  .  .  The  elder  makes  out  that  she 
is  not  young.  .  .  .  But  he  is  lying,  .  .  .  And 
who  is  that  happy  man?  .  .  .  There  is  no 
making  it  out  at  all.  But  what  a  strange 
adventure !  Is  it  possible  it  has  happened  like 
this  twice?  .  .  .  Anyway  I  will  find  out  who 
she  is  and  why  she  has  come  here.  .  .  ." 
Excited  by  these  confused  and  disconnected 
thoughts,  I  fell  asleep  late  and  had  strange 
dreams.  ...  At  one  moment  I  fancied  I 
was  wandering  somewhere  in  the  wilderness  in 
the  very  heat  of  mid-day — and  suddenly  I  saw 
before  me,  racing  over  the  baked  yellow  sand, 
a  great  patch  of  shadow.  ...  I  raised  my 
head — she,  my  beautiful  lady,  was  floating 
170 


THREE  MEETINGS 

through  the  air,  all  white  with  long  white  wings 
and  beckoning  me  to  her.  I  rushed  after  her; 
but  she  floated  lightly  and  rapidly  and  I  could 
not  rise  up  from  the  earth  and  stretched  out 
eager  arms  in  vain.  ^'Addio!"  she  said  to  me, 
flying  away.  "Why  have  you  no  wings? 
AddioJ"  and  then  from  all  sides  I  heard 
"Addio,"  every  grain  of  sand  was  shouting  and 
shrieking  to  me  "Addio"  .  .  .  That  i  rang 
out  in  an  insufferable  sharp  trill.  ...  I  waved 
it  away  like  a  gnat.  I  looked  for  her  .  .  .  but 
she  had  already  become  a  little  cloud  and  was 
softly  mounting  to  the  sun;  the  sun  quivered, 
trembled,  laughed,  stretched  out  long  golden 
threads  to  meet  her,  and  now  she  was  tangled 
in  those  threads  and  melting  into  them,  while 
I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice  like  one  pos- 
sessed :  "It's  not  the  sun,  it's  not  the  sun,  it's 
that  Italian  spider;  who  gave  him  a  passport 
to  Russia  ?  I  will  expose  him :  I  saw  him  steal- 
ing oranges  in  other  people's  gardens.  .  .  ." 

Then  I  dreamed  I  was  walking  along  a  nar- 
row   mountain   path  ...  I    was    hurrying;    I 
had  to  get  somewhere  in  haste,  some  unheard- 
of  happiness  was  awaiting  me;  all  at  once  a 
171 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

huge  cliff  rose  up  before  me;  I  looked  for  a 
path;  I  went  to  the  right,  I  went  to  the  left — 
there  was  no  way  to  pass !  And  suddenly  be- 
yond the  rock  a  voice  rang  out:  "Passa,  passa 
que'  colli.  .  .  ."  It  was  calling  me,  that  voice ; 
it  repeated  its  mournful  summons.  I  rushed 
about  in  my  misery  seeking  for  the  smallest 
crevice.  .  .  .  Alas!  It  was  an  overhanging 
wall,  granite  on  all  sides.  .  .  .  "Passa  que' 
colli "  the  voice  repeated  plaintively.  My  heart 
ached,  I  flung  myself  against  the  smooth  stone, 
in  my  frenzy  I  tore  it  with  my  nails.  A  dark 
passage  suddenly  opened  before  me.  .  .  . 
Faint  with  joy  I  struggled  forward.  .  .  . 

"Nonsense,"  someone  shouted  to  me:  "You 
shall  not  pass.  ..."  I  looked  up:  Lukyanitch 
was  standing  before  me,  waving  his  arms  and 
threatening  me.  I  hurriedly  fumbled  in  my 
pockets :  I  meant  to  bribe  him ;  but  I  could  find 
nothing  in  my  pockets.  .  .  .  "Lukyanitch,"  I 
said  to  him,  "Lukyanitch,  let  me  pass;  I  will 
reward  you  afterwards." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Signor,"  Lukyanitch  an- 
swered, and  his  face  assumed  a  strange  expres- 
sion. "I  am  not  a  servant;  recognise  in  me 
172 


THREE  MEETINGS 

Don  Quixote  De  La  Mancha,  the  famous 
knight-errant;  I  have  been  all  my  life  seeking 
my  Dulcinea  and  could  not  find  her,  and  I  can- 
not endure  that  you  should  find  yours.  .  .  ." 

"Passa  que'  colli  .  .  ."  the  voice,  almost  sob- 
bing, rings  out  again.  "Stand  aside,  Signor!" 
I  cried  with  fury,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
dashing  forward,  but  the  knight's  long  lance 
struck  me  to  the  heart  ...  I  fell  like  one 
dead  ...  I  lay  on  my  back.  ...  I  could 
not  stir  .  .  .  and  behold,  I  saw  her  coming 
with  a  lamp  in  her  hand  gracefully  holding  it 
above  her  head.  Looking  about  her  in  the  dark- 
ness and  cautiously  stealing  up,  she  bent  down 
over  me.  .  .  .  "So  this  is  he,  that  fool.  He 
tried  to  find  out  who  I  am,"  she  said  with  a 
contemptuous  laugh,  and  the  burning  oil  of  her 
lamp  dropped  straight  on  my  wounded  heart. 
.  .  .  "Psyche !"  I  cried  with  an  effort,  and  woke 
up.  .  .  . 

I  slept  badly  all  night  and  was  on  my  feet 
before  it  was  light.  Hurriedly  dressing  and 
taking  my  gun,  I  set  off  at  once  for  the  house. 
My  impatience  was  so  great  that  the  sunrise 
was  only  beginning  by  the  time  I  reached  the 
173 


THE  TWO  FRIENBS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

familiar  gates.  The  larks  were  singing  all 
around,  jackdaws  were  cawing  on  the  birch- 
trees  ;  but  in  the  house  everything  was  sleeping 
the  deep  sleep  of  morning.  Even  the  dog  was 
snoring  behind  the  fence.  In  an  agony  of  ex- 
pectation, strained  almost  to  anger,  I  walked  up 
and  down  the  dewy  grass,  looking  incessantly 
at  the  low-pitched  and  ugly  little  house  which 
sheltered  this  enigmatic  creature  within  its 
walls.  All  at  once  the  little  gate  gave  a  faint 
creak  and  opened,  and  Lukyanitch  appeared  in 
the  gateway,  wearing  a  kind  of  striped  Cossack 
coat.  His  face  with  its  ruffled  hair  seemed  to 
me  more  morose  than  ever.  Looking  at  me  not 
without  some  amazement,  he  was  about  to  shut 
the  gate  again. 

"My  good  man,  my  good  man!"  I  cried  out 
hurriedly. 

"What  do  you  want  at  such  an  early  hour?" 
he  replied  slowly  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"Tell  me,  please,  your  mistress  has  come,  I 
am  told?" 

Lukyanitch  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,  she  has  come.  .  .  ." 

"Alone?" 

174 


THREE  MEETINGS 

"With  her  sister." 

"Hadn't  they  visitors  yesterday?" 

"No." 

And  he  pulled  the  gate  towards  him. 

"Stay,  stay,  my  good  man  ...  do  me  the 
favour  .  .  ." 

Lukyanitch    coughed    and    shrank    together 
from  the  cold. 

"Why,  what  is  it  you  want  ?" 

"Tell  me,  please,  how  old  is  your  mistress?" 

Lukyanitch  glanced  at  me  suspiciously. 

"How  old  is  my  mistress?     I  don't  know. 
Over  forty  she  must  be." 

"Over  forty!    And  how  old  is  her  sister?" 

"Why,  she's  about  forty." 

"Impossible!    And  is  she  good-looking?" 

"Who?— the  sister?" 

"Yes,  the  sister." 

Lukyanitch  gave  a  laugh. 

"I  don't  know ;  that  is  as  one  fancies ;  to  my 
thinking,  she  is  not." 

"How  so?" 

'Oh,  she's  not  much  to  boast  of.     Rather 
weakly  looking." 

"Oh,  indeed !   And  has  no  one  else  come  ?" 
175 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"No  one.    Who  should  come?" 

"But  that  cannot  be.    I  .  .  ." 

"Eh,  sir,  we  shall  never  have  done  talking," 
the  old  man  answered  with  vexation.  "It's  so 
cold !    Pray  excuse  me." 

"Stay,  stay  .  .  .  here's  .  .  ."  and  I  held  out 
a  quarter  rouble  I  had  got  ready  beforehand 
but  my  hand  knocked  against  the  rapidly 
slammed  gate.  The  silver  coin  fell  on  the  earth, 
rolled  away  and  lay  at  my  feet. 

"Ah,  the  old  rogue,"  I  thought ;  "Don  Quixote 
De  La  Mancha,  you  have  been  told  to  hold  your 
tongue,  it  seems  .  .  .  but  wait  a  bit,  you  won't 
get  rid  of  me  so  easily.  .  .  ." 

I  vowed  to  myself  that  come  what  may  I 
would  get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  For  about  half 
an  hour  I  walked  up  and  down,  not  knowing 
what  course  to  decide  upon.  At  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  first  to  find  out  in  the  village  who 
had  arrived  at  the  place  and  whose  it  was,  then 
to  come  back  again  and,  as  the  saying  is,  not 
to  give  it  up  till  the  mystery  was  explained. 
My  unknown  lady  would  come  out  into  the 
garden,  I  should  see  her  at  last  by  daylight, 
from  close  by,  as  a  living  woman,  not  as  an 
176 


THREE  MEETINGS 

apparition.  The  village  was  less  than  a  mile 
away  and  I  set  off  at  once  in  that  direction, 
stepping  out  lightly  and  confidently.  A  strange 
defiance  was  rising  and  working  in  my  blood; 
the  invigorating  freshness  of  morning  strung 
me  up  after  my  restless  night. 

In  the  village  I  learned  all  that  was  to  be 
learned  from  two  peasants  on  their  way  to 
work;  that  is,  that  the  place  together  with  the 
village  I  had  reached  was  called  Mihailovskoye, 
that  it  belonged  to  the  widow  of  a  major,  a 
lady  called  Anna  Fyodorovna  Shlykov,  that  she 
had  an  unmarried  sister  called  Pelageya  Fyo- 
dorovna Badayev,  that  they  were  both  getting 
on  in  years  and  were  wealthy,  that  they  scarcely 
ever  stayed  at  home  but  were  always  travelling 
about,  that  they  kept  no  servants  but  two  maids 
and  a  man  cook,  that  Anna  Fyodorovna  had 
arrived  a  few  days  before  from  Moscow  ac- 
companied by  no  one  but  her  sister.  This  last 
circumstance  disconcerted  me  greatly;  I  could 
not  suppose  that  the  peasants,  too,  had  orders 
to  say  nothing  about  my  unknown  lady.  But 
to  admit  that  Anna  Fyodorovna  Shlykov,  a 
widow  of  five  and  forty,  and  the  charming 
177 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

young  woman  I  had  seen  the  night  before  were 
the  same  person  was  impossible.  Pelageya 
Fyodorovna  was,  according  to  the  description 
of  her,  not  distinguished  by  beauty  either,  and, 
besides,  at  the  very  thought  that  the  woman  I 
had  seen  in  Sorrento  could  be  called  Pelageya 
and,  worse  still,  Badayev,  I  shrugged  my  shoul- 
ders and  laughed  angrily.  And  yet  I  had  seen 
her  yesterday  in  that  house  .  .  .  seen  her, 
seen  her  with  my  own  eyes,  I  thought.  Thor- 
oughly vexed,  roused  to  fury,  but  still  more 
persistent  in  my  intention,  I  was  on  the  point 
of  going  back  to  the  garden  .  .  .  but  I 
glanced  at  my  watch :  it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock. 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  wait  a  little.  At  the 
house  everyone  was  most  likely  still  asleep.  .  .  . 
And  to  hang  about  it  at  such  an  hour  would 
only  have  been  exciting  suspicion  for  nothing; 
moreover,  there  was  a  stretch  of  bushes  before 
me  and  beyond  them  I  could  see  a  copse  of 
aspen-trees.  ...  I  must  do  myself  the  jus- 
tice to  say  that  in  spite  of  the  thoughts  that 
were  exciting  me  the  noble  passion  for  the 
chase  was  not  utterly  eclipsed,  "Maybe,"  I 
thought,  "I  shall  come  upon  a  covey, — and  the 
178 


THREE  MEETINGS 

time  will  pass."  I  went  into  the  thicket.  But 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  walked  very  carelessly  and 
paid  little  attention  to  the  rules  of  the  art:  I 
did  not  keep  a  constant  watch  on  my  dog,  I 
did  not  "snort"  over  a  thick  bush  in  the  hope 
that  a  red-crested  blackcock  would  fly  up  from 
it  with  a  clatter  and  outcry,  and  I  kept  looking 
at  my  watch,  which  was  utterly  out  of  place. 
At  last  it  was  getting  on  for  nine.  "It's  time," 
I  cried  aloud,  and  was  just  turning  back  to- 
wards the  house  when  a  huge  blackcock  really 
was  startled  out  of  the  thick  grass  two  paces 
from  me;  I  fired  at  the  magnificent  bird  and 
wounded  it  under  the  wing.  It  almost  rolled 
over  but  righted  itself,  made  for  the  copse, 
quivering  its  wings  and  diving,  tried  to  rise 
above  the  first  aspen-trees  but,  growing  weak, 
fell  all  of  a  heap  into  a  thicket.  To  abandon 
such  game  would  have  been  utterly  unpardon- 
able; I  promptly  went  after  it,  entered  the 
copse,  made  a  signal  to  Dianka,  and  a  few  mo- 
ments later  heard  a  feeble  rustling  and  clat- 
tering ;  it  was  the  unhappy  blackcock  struggling 
under  the  paws  of  my  quick-scented  dog.  I 
picked  it  up,  put  it  in  my  gamebag,  looked 
179 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

round — and  stood  still  as  though  rivetted  to 
the  spot.  .  .  . 

The  copse  into  which  I  had  gone  was  very 
thick  and  overgrown  so  that  I  had  difficulty 
in  getting  to  the  spot  where  the  bird  had 
fallen;  but  at  a  short  distance  from  me  there 
was  a  winding  cart-road  and  along  that  road 
my  beautiful  lady  was  riding  on  horseback  at 
a  walking  pace  and  beside  her  the  man  who 
had  overtaken  me  the  evening  before;  I  recog- 
nised him  by  his  moustaches.  They  were  rid- 
ing slowly  in  silence,  holding  each  other's 
hands;  their  horses  seemed  scarcely  moving, 
languidly  swaying  from  side  to  side  and  grace- 
fully craning  their  long  necks.  Recovering 
from  my  first  terror  .  .  .  yes,  terror — I  can 
give  no  other  name  to  the  feeling  which  sud- 
denly overwhelmed  me — I  simply  fastened  my 
eyes  on  her.  How  lovely  she  was !  How  en- 
chantingly  her  graceful  form  moved  to  meet 
me  in  the  midst  of  the  emerald  greenery !  Soft 
shadows,  delicate  reflections  slowly  glided  over 
her — over  her  long  grey  dress,  over  her  slen- 
der, slightly  bowed  neck,  over  her  pale  rosy 
face,  over  her  glossy  black  hair  which  sprang 
i8o 


THREE  MEETINGS 

out  in  luxuriant  abundance  from  under  her  low 
hat.  But  how  can  I  describe  the  expression  of 
the  perfect,  passionate — mutely  passionate  bliss 
with  which  her  features  were  breathing!  Her 
head  seemed  as  though  bent  under  the  weight 
of  it;  moist  gleams  of  gold  shone  out  of  her 
dark  eyes,  half  hidden  by  their  lashes;  they 
looked  nowhere,  those  happy  eyes,  and  the  deli- 
cate brows  were  lowered  over  them.  A  vague, 
childlike  smile — the  smile  of  deep  joy — was 
straying  on  her  lips;  it  seemed  as  though  ex- 
cess of  happiness  was  exhausting  and  as  it  were 
breaking  her  down  a  little,  just  as  the  fully 
opened  flower  sometimes  breaks  down  its  stalk ; 
both  her  hands  lay  limp:  one  in  the  hand  of 
the  man  riding  beside  her,  the  other  on  the 
horse's  forelock.  I  had  time  to  look  at  her 
thoroughly — and  at  him  also.  ...  He  was  a 
handsome,  imposing-looking  man  with  a  for- 
eign face.  He  was  looking  at  her  boldly  and 
gaily  and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  admiring 
her  with  secret  pride.  He  was  admiring  her, 
the  villain,  and  was  very  well  pleased  with  him- 
self and  not  sufficiently  moved,  not  melted  with 
gratitude — yes,  that  was  what  was  lacking. 
i8i 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

.  .  .  And,  indeed,  no  man  deserves  such  devo- 
tion. What  soul,  even  the  noblest,  is  worthy 
^  of  inspiring  such  happiness  in  another  soul? 
...  I  must  confess  I  envied  him.  .  .  .  Mean- 
while they  both  were  on  a  level  with  me.  .  .  . 
My  dog  suddenly  jumped  out  on  the  road  and 
barked.  My  unknown  lady  started,  looked  hur- 
riedly round,  and,  seeing  me,  switched  her  horse 
on  the  neck  with  the  riding  whip.  The  horse 
gave  a  snort,  reared  and  set  off  at  a  gallop. 
.  .  .  The  man  at  once  spurred  his  raven  horse 
and  when  a  few  minutes  later  I  came  out  of 
the  copse  along  the  road  they  were  both  gal- 
loping in  the  golden  distance  across  the  open 
country,  swaying  gracefully  and  rhythmically 
in  their  saddles  and  were  galloping  not  in  the 
direction  of  the  house.  .  .  . 

I  watched  them.  .  .  .  They  soon  vanished 
over  a  hill,  brightly  lighted  by  the  sun  on  the 
dark  line  of  the  horizon.  I  stood  and  waited, 
with  slow  footsteps  went  back  into  the  wood 
and  sat  down  on  a  little  path,  covering  my  eyes 
with  my  hands. 

I  have  noticed  when  one  meets  strangers  one 
need  only  close  one's  eyes  and  their  features 
182 


THREE  MEETINGS 

at  once  rise  up  before  one;  anyone  can  verify 
the  truth  of  my  observations  in  the  street.  The 
more  famiHar  the  face  the  more  difficult  it 
is  to  see  it  and  the  less  clear  is  its  expression; 
one  remembers  it  but  cannot  see  it  .  .  .  and 
one's  own  face  one  can  never  picture  .  .  .  each 
separate  trait,  however  slight,  is  familiar,  but 
you  cannot  put  the  whole  image  together.  And 
so  I  sat  with  closed  eyes — and  at  once  saw 
my  unknown  lady  and  her  companion  and  their 
horses  and  everything.  .  .  .  The  smiling  face 
of  the  man  stood  out  before  me  with  peculiar 
sharpness  and  distinctness,  I  fell  to  looking 
intently  at  it  ...  it  grew  blurred  and  melted 
away  into  a  crimson  mist  and  her  image,  too, 
floated  away  after  it  and  sank  and  would  not 
come  back  again. 

I  got  up.  "Well,"  I  thought,  "I  have  seen 
them,  anyway,  have  seen  them  both  clearly. 
...  I  have  only  to  find  out  their  names."  To 
try  and  find  out  their  names !  What  petty,  in- 
appropriate curiosity,  but,  I  swear,  it  was  not 
curiosity  that  was  roused  in  me:  it  really 
seemed  to  me  impossible  not  to  find  out  at  least 
who  they  were  after  chance  had  so  strangely 
183 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

and  so  persistently  thrown  me  in  their  way. 
I  had,  however,  no  longer  the  same  impatient 
perplexity  as  before;  it  was  replaced  by  a  con- 
fused melancholy  feeling  of  which  I  was  a  lit- 
tle ashamed.  ...  I  was  filled  with  envy.  .  .  . 

I  did  not  hurry  back  to  the  house.  I  must 
own  I  began  to  be  ashamed  of  probing  another 
person's  secret.  Moreover  the  appearance  of 
the  loving  couple  by  day  in  the  sunlight,  though 
unexpected  and,  I  repeat,  strange,  had  not  ex- 
actly calmed,  buf,  as  it  were,  cooled  me  off. 
I  saw  in  all  this  adventure  now  nothing  super- 
natural, marvellous  .  .  .  nothing  like  an  incred- 
ible dream.  .  .  . 

I  began  shooting  again  with  more  attention 
than  before;  but  yet  I  had  no  real  enthusiasm 
for  it.  I  came  across  a  covey  and  it  kept  me 
for  an  hour  and  a  half.  .  .  .  The  young  snipe 
for  a  long  time  did  not  call  in  response  to  my 
whistle — probably  because  I  did  not  whistle 
sufficiently  "objectively." 

The  sun  had  risen  very  high  (my  watch  said 
twelve  o'clock)  as  I  turned  my  steps  to  the  gar- 
den of  the  old  house.  I  walked  without  haste. 
When  at  last  I  caught  a  glimpse  from  the  hill 
184 


THREE  MEETINGS 

of  the  little  low  house  .  .  .  my  heart  began 
quivering  again.  I  drew  near  .  .  .  and  not 
without  secret  satisfaction  caught  sight  of 
Lukyanitch.  He  was  sitting  as  before  motion- 
less on  the  bench  before  the  lodge.  The  gates 
were  shut  and  the  shutters  also. 

"Good-day,  old  man,"  I  shouted  from  some 
distance;  "have  you  come  out  to  warm  your- 
self?" 

Lukyanitch  turned  his  face  towards  me  and 
lifted  his  cap  without  speaking.  I  went  up  to 
him. 

"Good-day,  old  man,  good-day,"  I  repeated, 
wanting  to  soften  him.  "How's  this,"  I  added, 
chancing  to  see  my  new  quarter  rouble  on  the 
ground,  "didn't  you  see  it?" 

And  I  pointed  to  the  little  silver  disc  half 
sticking  out  in  the  short  grass. 

"Yes,  I  saw  it." 

"Then  how  is  it  you  didn't  pick  it  up  ?" 

"Oh,  it's  not  my  money,  so  I  didn't  pick  it 
up." 

"What  a  man  you  are !"  I  protested  not  with- 
out embarrassment,  and  picking  up  the  quarter 
185 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

rouble  I  held  it  out  to  him  again.     "Take  it, 
take  it  for  tea." 

"Much  obliged,"  Lukyanitch  answered  me 
with  a  calm  smile.  "There's  no  need;  we  do 
well  as  it  is;  much  obliged." 

"But  I  am  ready  to  give  you  more  with  pleas- 
ure," I  replied  in  confusion. 

"What  for?  Don't  trouble  yourself,  your 
honour — much  obliged  for  your  kindness,  but 
we  shall  have  bread  and  the  best  of  it.  Maybe 
more  than  we  can  eat  at  this  time  of  day." 

And  he  got  up  and  held  out  his  hand  towards 
the  little  gate. 

"Stay,  stay,  old  man,"  I  said,  almost  in  de- 
spair.    "How  unwilling  you  are  to  talk  to-day, 
really.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  at  any  rate,  your  mistress 
— has  she  got  up  yet?" 
"Yes." 

"And  ...  is  she  at  home?" 
"No,  her  honour  is  not  at  home." 
"Has  she  driven  out  to  pay  visits  or  what?" 
"No,  sir,  she  has  gone  away  to  Moscow." 
"To  Moscow!  but  she  was  here  this  morn- 
ing?" 
"Yes." 

i86 


THREE  MEETINGS 

"And  she  slept  the  night  here?" 

"Yes." 

"And  she  had  only  come  a  little  while  ago  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  how  is  it,  my  man?" 

"Why,  it  will  be  an  hour  ago  her  honour  was 
pleased  to  set  ofif  for  Moscow  again." 

"To  Moscow!" 

I  stared  at  Lukyanitch  in  stupefaction;  this, 
I  own,  I  had  not  expected.  .  .  . 

And  Lukyanitch  looked  at  me.  The  cunning 
smile  of  old  age  twisted  his  dry  lips  and  faintly 
gleamed  in  his  mournful  eyes. 

"And  she  has  gone  with  her  sister?"  I 
brought  out  at  last. 

"Yes." 

"So  that  there  is  no  one  in  the  house  now?" 

"No.  .  .  ." 

"The  old  man  is  deceiving  me,"  flashed 
through  my  mind;  "that  cunning  smile  is  not 
for  nothing." 

"Listen,  Lukyanitch,"  I  said  aloud,  "will  you 
do  me  a  favour  ?" 

"What  is  your  pleasure?"  he  brought  out 
187 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

slowly,  evidently  beginning  to  be  worried  by 
my  questions. 

"You  say  there  is  no  one  in  the  house;  can 
you  show  it  to  me?" 

"That  is,  you  want  to  look  at  the  rooms  ?" 

"Yes,  at  the  rooms." 

Lukyanitch  was  silent  for  a  space. 

"Certainly,"  he  brought  out  at  last.  "Please 
come.  .  .  ." 

And  bending  down,  he  stepped  over  the 
threshold  of  the  little  gate.  I  followed  him. 
Crossing  the  little  yard,  we  mounted  the  shaky 
steps.  The  old  man  pushed  open  the  door; 
there  was  no  lock  on  it.  A  cord  with  a  loop 
hung  through  the  key-hole.  .  .  .  We  went  into 
the  house.  It  consisted  of  five  or  six  low- 
pitched  rooms  and,  as  far  as  I  could  distinguish 
in  the  faint  light  which  percolated  scantily 
through  the  chinks  of  the  shutters,  the  furni- 
ture in  the  rooms  was  very  plain  and  decrepit. 
In  one  of  them  (the  one  which  looked  out  into 
the  garden)  there  stood  a  little  old  piano.  .  .  . 
I  raised  the  bent  cover  and  struck  the  keys:  a 
sour  hissing  note  rang  out  and  peevishly  died 
away  as  through  complaining  of  my  impudence ; 
i88 


THREE  MEETINGS 

there  was  no  sign  from  which  one  could  have 
guessed  that  people  had  just  lately  left  the 
house;  there  was  a  smell  in  it  of  something 
deathly  and  stifling — not  as  though  it  were  lived 
in ;  only  a  scrap  of  paper  lying  about  here  and 
there  showed  by  its  whiteness  that  it  had  not 
been  here  long.  I  picked  up  one  such  scrap  of 
paper;  it  turned  out  to  be  a  bit  of  a  letter;  on 
one  side  in  a  bold  feminine  hand  were  traced 
the  words  "se  taire?" ;  on  the  other  side  I  made 
out  the  word  "honhcur."  .  .  .  On  a  little  round 
table  by  the  window  there  stood  a  nosegay  of 
half-withered  flowers  and  a  crumpled  green 
ribbon  lay  beside  it.  ...  I  took  that  little  rib- 
bon for  a  souvenir.  Lukyanitch  opened  a  nar- 
row door  which  was  papered  like  the  wall, 

"Here,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his  hand, 
"this  is  a  bedroom  and  there  beyond  it  is  the 
maid's  room,  and  there  are  no  other  apart- 
ments." 

We  walked  back  along  the  passage.  "And 
what  room  is  that?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  a 
broad  white  door  with  a  lock. 

"That,"  Lukyanitch  answered  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "that's  nothing." 

189 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  nothing  ...  a  storeroom  .  .  ."  and 
he  was  going  on  towards  the  hall. 

"A  storeroom?    Can't  I  look  at  it?" 

"What  can  you  want  to  see  that  for,  really?" 
Lukyanitch  protested  with  displeasure.  "What's 
there  for  you  to  see?  Boxes,  old  crockery. 
It's  a  storeroom  and  nothing  else.  .  .  ." 

"All  the  same,  do  show  it  me,  old  man, 
please,"  I  said,  though  inwardly  ashamed  of 
my  unseemly  pertinacity.  "You  see  ...  I 
should  like  ...  I  want  just  such  a  house  for 
myself  in  the  country.  .  .  ." 

I  felt  ashamed;  I  could  not  finish  the  little 
speech  I  had  begun. 

Lukyanitch  stood  with  his  grey  head  droop- 
ing on  his  breast,  and  kept  looking  at  me  some- 
what strangely  from  under  his  brows. 

"Show  it  me,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  answered  at  last,  took 
out  the  key  and  reluctantly  unlocked  the  door. 

I  glanced  into  the  storeroom.  There  cer- 
tainly was  nothing  remarkable  in  it.  On  the 
walls  there  were  old  portraits  with  gloomy,  al- 
190 


THREE  MEETINGS 

most  black  faces  and  angry  eyes.  The  floor 
was  littered  with  all  sorts  of  rubbish. 

"Well,  have  you  looked  at  it?"  Lukyanitch 
asked  me  grimly. 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  I  answered  hurriedly. 

He  slammed  the  door.  I  went  into  the  hall 
and  from  the  hall  into  the  courtyard. 

Lukyanitch  saw  me  out,  muttered:  "I  wish 
you  good-day,"  and  was  going  off  to  his  lodge. 

"And  what  lady  was  it  staying  here,  yester- 
day ?"  I  called  after  him.  "I  met  her  to-day  in 
the  copse." 

I  hoped  to  take  him  unawares  by  my  sudden 
question  and  to  evoke  an  unconsidered  answer. 
But  the  old  man  only  gave  a  toneless  laugh  and, 
going  into  his  lodge,  slammed  the  door. 

I  went  back  to  Glinnoye.  I  felt  uncomfort- 
able, like  a  boy  who  has  been  put  to  shame. 

"No,"  I  said  to  myself.  "It  seems  I  am  not 
to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery.  Bother 
it,  I  won't  think  any  more  about  it." 

An  hour  later  I  was  driving  home,  thor- 
oughly irritated  and  out  of  humour. 

A  week  passed.  In  spite  of  my  efforts  to 
drive  away  the  thought  of  my  unknown  lady, 
191 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  her  companion,  of  my  meeting  with  them, 
it  was  continually  returning  and  haunting  me 
with  the  tiresome  persistence  of  an  after-dinner 
fly.  .  .  .  Lukyanitch  with  his  mysterious 
glances  and  reserved  speeches,  with  his  cold, 
melancholy  smile  was  incessantly  recurring  to 
my  mind  also.  The  house  itself,  when  I  re- 
called it,  the  very  house  itself,  seemed  looking 
slyly  and  stupidly  at  me  through  its  half-closed 
shutters  and,  as  it  were,  taunted  me  and  seemed 
to  be  saying  to  me:  "And  after  all  you  know 
nothing!"  At  last  I  could  not  restrain  my- 
self and  one  fine  day  drove  over  to  Glin- 
noye  and  from  Glinnoye  set  off  on  foot.  .  .  . 
Whither?    The  reader  can  easily  guess. 

I  must  confess  that  as  I  approached  the  mys- 
terious garden  I  was  aware  of  rather  strong 
excitement.  There  was  no  change  in  the  outer 
appearance  of  the  house;  the  same  closed  win- 
dows, the  same  forlorn  and  dejected  air;  only 
instead  of  Lukyanitch  a  young  servant-lad  of 
twenty  in  a  full,  long  nankeen  coat  and  a  red 
shirt  was  sitting  on  the  bench  before  the  lodge. 

"Good-day,  my  lad,"  I  said  in  a  loud  voice. 
192 


THREE  MEETINGS 

He  jumped  up  at  once  and  opened  wide  his 
startled  eyes. 

"Good-day,  my  lad,"  I  repeated;  "where  is 
the  old  man?" 

"What  old  man?"  the  youth  brought  out 
slowly. 

"Lukyanitch." 

"Ah,  Lukyanitch!"  He  looked  away.  "Do 
you  want  Lukyanitch  ?" 

"Yes,  Lukyanitch.    Is  he  at  home?" 

"N-no,"  the  lad  pronounced,  hesitating,  "he 
is  .  .  .  How  shall  I  tell  you?  .  .  ." 

"Is  he  unwell  or  what?" 

"No." 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"Why,  he  isn't  here  at  all." 

"Not  here?" 

"No.  Something  bad  .  .  .  has  happened  to 
him.  .  .  ." 

"Is  he  dead?"  I  asked  with  amazement. 

"He  strangled  himself." 

"Strangled  himself !"  I  cried  with  horror  and 
flung  up  my  hands. 

We  looked  into  each  other's  faces  without 
speaking. 

193 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Was  it  long  ago?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"Just  five  days  ago.  He  was  buried  yester- 
day." 

"But  why  did  he  strangle  himself?" 

"The  Lord  knows.  He  was  a  free  man,  he 
had  a  salary;  he  wanted  for  nothing,  his  mis- 
tresses looked  after  him  as  though  he  were 
one  of  their  kin.  They  are  good  to  us,  you 
know,  God  bless  them.  There  is  simply  no 
making  out  what  came  over  him.  The  Evil 
One  must  have  confounded  him." 

"But  how  did  he  do  it  ?" 

"Why,  he  just  took  and  strangled  himself." 

"Was  there  nothing  noticed  about  him  be- 
fore?" 

"What  can  I  say?  .  .  .  Nothing  so  to  say 
special.  ...  He  was  always  a  dreary,  suspi- 
cious man !  He  would  be  sighing  and  groaning. 
'I  feel  dreary,'  he  would  say.  And  then  there 
was  his  age,  you  see.  Of  late  he  certainly  had 
begun  to  brood  a  bit.  He  would  come  some- 
times to  see  us  in  the  village;  and  I  am  his 
nephew,  you  know.  'Well,  my  boy,'  he  would 
say,  'come  and  stay  the  night  with  me,  will 
you?'  'Why,  uncle?'  'Oh,  I  feel  a  bit  fright- 
194 


THREE  MEETINGS 

ened  somehow  and  dreary  by  myself.  .  .  .* 
Well,  and  I  would  come  to  him.  He  would 
come  out  into  the  yard,  and  look  and  look  like 
this  at  the  house,  would  shake  his  head  and 
heave  a  sigh.  .  .  .  Before  the  very  night  in 
which  he  put  an  end  to  his  life,  he  came  to  us 
and  asked  me  to  go.  Well,  I  came.  So  when 
we  reached  the  lodge,  he  sat  a  little  on  the 
bench;  then  he  got  up  and  went  out.  I  went 
into  the  yard  and  cried,  'Uncle,  hey,  uncle!' 
Uncle  did  not  call  back.  I  thought,  'Where 
can  he  have  gone,  not  into  the  house  surely?' 
And  I  went  into  the  house.  It  was  beginning 
to  get  dark.  Well,  as  I  passed  by  the  store- 
room I  heard  something  scraping  behind  the 
door;  I  took  and  opened  the  door,  and  there 
he  was  sitting  squatting  under  the  window. 
'What  are  you  doing  here,  uncle?'  said  I.  How 
he  turned  round  and  shouted  at  me!  and  his 
eyes  looked  about  so  quickly,  they  were  burn- 
ing like  a  cat's.  'What  do  you  want?  Don't 
you  see  I  am  shaving?'  And  his  voice  was  so 
husky.  My  hair  stood  on  end  to  hear  him  and 
I  felt  frightened,  I  don't  know  why.  .  .  .  The 
devils  must  have  been  round  him  by  that  time. 
195 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

'In  the  dark  ?'  I  said,  and  my  knees  were  shak- 
ing. 'Oh,'  said  he,  "that  is  all  right.  Run 
along.'  I  went  away  and  he  came  out  of  the 
storeroom  and  locked  it  up.  So  we  went  back 
to  the  lodge  and  my  fright  passed  off  at  once. 
'What  were  you  doing  in  the  storeroom,  un- 
cle?' I  said.  He  fairly  started.  'Hold  your 
tongue,'  and  he  got  on  his  bed.  'Well,'  thought 
I,  'I  had  better  not  talk  to  him:  it  seems  he 
is  not  quite  the  thing  to-day,'  so  I  went  and  lay 
down  on  the  bed,  too.  And  the  night  lamp 
was  burning  in  the  corner.  So  I  lay  down  and 
dropped  asleep,  you  know.  .  .  .  All  at  once  I 
heard  the  door  creak  softly  and  open  just  a 
little.  And  uncle  was  lying  with  his  back  to 
the  door,  and,  as  you  remember,  maybe,  he 
was  always  hard  of  hearing.  But  he  jumped 
up  at  once  .  .  .  'Who  is  calling  me,  eh?  who? 
He  has  come  for  me,  for  me!'  And  he  went 
out  into  the  yard  without  his  cap.  ...  I  won- 
dered what  was  the  matter  with  him  and  then 
like  a  sinner  I  fell  asleep.  When  I  woke  up 
next  morning  Lukyanitch  was  not  there.  I 
went  out  of  the  room  and  began  calling  him 
— he  was  nowhere.  I  asked  the  watchman: 
196 


THREE  MEETINGS 

'Didn't  you  see  uncle  go  out?'  *No/  he  said, 
'I  didn't.'  'Well,  brother,'  said  I,  'he's  gone 
somehow.  *  .  /  Oy!  we  were  both  scared! 
'Let  us  go,  Fedoseyitch/  I  said,  'let  us  go  and 
see  whether  he  is  in  the  house.'  'Very  well, 
Vassily  Timofeyitch,'  he  said,  and  he  looked 
as  white  as  clay.  We  went  into  the  house. 
.  .  .  When  we  passed  the  storeroom  I  looked 
and  the  padlock  was  hanging  open  on  the  staple. 
I  pushed  at  the  door  and  it  was  bolted  in- 
side. .  .  .  Fedoseyitch  ran  round  to  look  in  at 
the  window.  .  .  .  'Vassily  Timofeyitch!'  he 
cried,  'there  are  legs  hanging,  legs!'  ...  I  ran 
to  the  window.  And  the  legs  were  his,  Luk- 
yanitch's  legs.  He  had  hanged  himself  in  thd 
middle  of  the  room.  .  .  .  Well,  we  sent  for 
the  police.  .  .  .  They  took  him  down;  the  cord 
was  tied  with  twelve  knots." 

"Well,  what  did  the  Court  decide?" 
"What  did  they  decide?  Why,  nothing. 
They  thought  and  thought  what  could  be  the 
reason  of  it.  There  was  no  reason  for  it.  So 
they  concluded  that  it  must  be  supposed  that 
he  was  out  of  his  mind.  He  had  headaches  of 
197 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

late;  often  he  would  keep  complaining  of  his 
head." 

I  talked  to  the  lad  for  another  half-hour  and 
went  away  completely  bewildered.  I  must  con- 
fess that  I  could  not  look  at  that  decrepit  house 
without  a  secret  superstitious  terror.  ...  A 
month  later  I  went  away  from  the  country  and 
by  degrees  all  these  horrors  and  mysterious 
meetings  passed  out  of  my  mind. 


II 


Three  years  had  passed.  I  spent  the  greater 
part  of  that  time  in  Petersburg  and  abroad  and 
if  I  went  home  to  the  country  it  was  only  for 
a  few  days,  so  that  I  did  not  once  happen  to 
be  in  Glinnoye  or  Mihailovskoye.  Nor  did  I 
see  my  beautiful  lady  nor  her  companion.  One 
day  towards  the  end  of  the  third  year  I  chanced 
to  meet,  at  an  evening  party  given  by  a  lady 
of  my  acquaintance  in  Moscow,  Madame  Shly- 
kov  and  her  sister  Pelageya  Badayev,  the  very 
Pelageya  whom  I  had,  like  a  sinner,  supposed 
till  then  to  be  a  fictitious  person. 

The  two  ladies  were  no  longer  young,  but 
198 


THREE  MEETINGS 

were  of  rather  agreeable  appearance.  Their 
conversation  was  distinguished  by  intelligence 
and  liveliness,  they  had  travelled  a  great  deal 
and  had  profited  by  their  travels;  a  spontane- 
ous gaiety  was  conspicuous  in  their  behaviour. 
But  there  was  absolutely  nothing  in  common 
between  them  and  my  mysterious  lady.  I  was 
introduced  to  them.  I  got  into  conversation 
with  Madame  Shlykov  (her  sister's  attention 
was  taken  up  by  a  distinguished  scientific  vis- 
itor, a  geologist).  I  told  her  that  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  her  neighbour  in  the  X. 
district, 

"Yes,  I  have  a  little  estate  there,"  she  said, 
"near  Glinnoye." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  I  answered.  "I 
know  your  Mihailovskoye.  Do  you  stay  there  ?" 

"Rarely." 

"You  were  there  three  years  ago." 

"Wait  a  minute,  I  believe  I  was ;  yes,  I  was." 

"Alone,  or  with  your  sister?" 

She  glanced  at  me. 

"With  my  sister.  We  went  down  there  for 
a  week,  you  know,  on  business.  But  we  saw 
no  one." 

199 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"H'm.  You  have  very  few  neighbours 
there,  I  beheve?" 

"Yes,  very  few.  And  I  am  not  very  eager 
to  see  them." 

"Tell  me,"  I  began,  "I  believe  something 
dreadful  happened  that  year.  Lukyanitch  .  .  ." 

Madame  Shlykov's  eyes  filled  with  tears  at 
once. 

"Did  you  know  him?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"What  a  dreadful  thing.  He  was  such  a  splen- 
did, good  old  man.  .  .  .  And  only  fancy,  for 
no  sort  of  reason." 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  muttered,  "a  dreadful  thing.  .  .  ." 

Her  sister  came  up  to  us.  She  was  prob- 
ably bored  by  the  learned  disquisitions  of  the 
geologist  on  the  formation  of  the  banks  of 
the  Volga. 

"Only  fancy,  Pauline,"  Madame  Shlykov  be- 
gan, "Monsieur  knew  Lukyanitch." 

"Really?     Poor  old  man." 

"I  went  shooting  near  Mihailovskoye  more 
than  once  at  the  time  you  were  there  three 
years  ago,"  I  observed. 

"I  ?"  said  Pelageya  in  some  perplexity. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,"  her  sister  put  in  hur- 
200 


THREE  MEETINGS 

riedly,  "Don't  you  remember  ?''  and  she  looked 
intently  intO'  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes  ...  to  be  sure !"  Pelageya  an- 
swered all  at  once. 

"Heigh-ho !"  I  thought,  "I  doubt  whether  you 
were  there,  my  dear !" 

"Won't  you  sing  us  something,  Pelageya 
Fyodorovna?"  a  tall  young  man,  with  a  shock 
of  flaxen  hair  and  lustreless  sugary  eyes,  said 
suddenly. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Badayev. 

"You  sing?"  I  exclaimed  eagerly  and  got  up 
from  my  seat.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  oh,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  sing  us  something!" 

"Why,  what  shall  I  sing  you?" 

"Don't  you  know,"  I  asked,  doing  my  ut- 
most to  appear  unconcerned  and  free  and  easy, 
"an    Itahan    song;    it   begins  .  .  .  Passa   que' 

coiur 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  answered  Pefegeya  quite 
innocently.  "Why,  shall  I  sing  it  to  you?  Cer- 
tainly." 

And  she  sat  down  to  the  piano.  I,  like  Ham- 
let, fastened  my  eyes  on  Madame  Shlykov.    I 

201 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

fancied  that  at  the  first  note  she  gave  a  faint 
start;  she  sat  through  it  quietly,  however. 
Mademoiselle  Badayev  sang  well.  The  song 
ended  and  the  usual  applause  followed.  Peo- 
ple began  begging  her  to  sing  something  more, 
but  the  sisters  excHanged  glances  and  a  few 
minutes  later  they  took  leave.  As  they  were 
going  out  of  the  room  I  overheard  the  word: 
"Importun." 

"Well  deserved,"  I  thought,  and  I  did  not 
meet  them  again. 

Another  year  passed.  I  went  tO'  live  in 
Petersburg.  Winter  came  on  and  masked  balls 
began.  Coming  out  from  a  friend's  house  at 
eleven  o'clock  one  evening,  I  felt  so  depressed 
that  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  the  masked 
ball  at  the  Hall  of  Nobility.  For  a  long  while 
I  wandered  beside  the  columns  and  by  the  mir- 
rors, with  a  modestly  Byronic  expression  on 
my  face,  that  expression  which  as  far  as  I  can 
observe  is  seen  even  in  the  most  well-bred  peo- 
ple on  such  occasions — why,  the  Lord  only 
knows;  for  a  long  while  I  hung  about,  at  rare 
intervals  shaking  off  with  a  jest  shrill  dominos 
with  dubious  lace  and  dirty  gloves,  and  at  still 

202 


THREE  MEETINGS 

rarer  intervals  entering  into  conversation  with 
them  myself;  for  a  long  time  I  resigned  my 
ears  to  the  blare  of  the  trumpets  and  the  screech 
of  the  fiddles.  At  last  after  being  bored  to  my 
heart's  content  and  having  acquired  a  headache, 
I  decided  to  go  home  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  I 
stayed  on.  ...  I  saw  a  woman  in  a  black 
domino  leaning  against  a  column.  I  saw  her, 
stopped,  went  up  to  her — and  .  .  .  will  the 
readers  believe  me  ?  ...  at  once  recognised  her 
as  my  unknown  lady.  How  I  recognised  her 
— whether  from  the  look  she  cast  carelessly 
upon  me  through  the  long  slits  in  the  mask,  or 
from  the  divine  curve  of  her  arm  and  shoul- 
ders, or  from  the  peculiar  feminine  grandeur 
of  her  whole  figure,  or  from  some  mysterious 
prompting  that  suddenly  spoke  within  me, — 
I  cannot  say  .  .  .  but  I  did.  With  a  tremor 
at  my  heart  I  walked  by  her  two  or  three  times. 
She  did  not  stir ;  in  her  attitude  there  was  some- 
thing so  hopelessly  sorrowful  that,  looking  at 
her,  I  involuntarily  recalled  two  lines  from  a 
Spanish  ballad: 

Soy  un  cuadro  de  tristeza, 
Arrimado  a  la  pared. 
203 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

I  walked  behind  the  column  against  which 
she  was  leaning  and  bending  down  close  to  her 
ear,  softly  pronounced :  "Passa  que'  colli."  .  .  . 

She  started  all  over  and  turned  quickly  to 
me.  Our  eyes  met  so  close  that  I  was  able  to 
detect  how  her  pupils  dilated  with  fear.  She 
stared  at  me  in  bewilderment,  weakly  sketch- 
ing out  one  hand. 

"May  6th,  184 — ,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning, in  Sorrento,  in  the  Via  della  Croce,"  I 
said  in  a  deliberate  voice,  not  taking  my  eyes 
off  her, — "then  in  Russia  in  X.  province,  at 
the  hamlet  of  Mihailovskoye  on  July  12th, 
184—." 

I  said  all  this  in  French.  She  drew  a  little 
back,  scanned  me  from  head  to  foot  with  as- 
tonished eyes,  and  whispering  "Vencs,"  walked 
hurriedly  out  of  the  ballroom;  I  followed  her. 

We  walked  in  silence.  I  cannot  attempt  to 
describe  my  feelings  as  I  walked  beside  her. 
A  lovely  vision  which  should  suddenly  become 
a  living  reality  .  .  .  the  statue  of  Galatea  step- 
ping down  from  the  pedestal,  a  living  woman, 
before  the  eyes  of  Pygmalion,  faint  with  ex- 
pectation. ...  I  could  not  believe  my  senses, 
204 


THREE  MEETINGS 

I  could  hardly  breathe.  We  walked  through 
several  rooms.  At  last  in  one  of  them  she 
stopped  before  a  small  sofa  in  the  window  and 
sat  down.     I  sat  down  beside  her. 

She  slowly  turned  her  head  towards  me  and 
looked  at  me  intently. 

"Do  you  ...  do  you  come  from  him?"  she 
said.     Her  voice  was  weak  and  uncertain. 

Her  question  confused  me  a  little. 

"No  .  .  .  not  from  him,"  I  said,  faltering. 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  with  mysterious  impor- 
tance. I  wanted  to  keep  up  my  part.  "I  know 
him." 

She  gazed  at  me  distrustfully,  would  have 
said  something  and  looked  down. 

"You  were  expecting  him  in  Sorrento,"  I 
went  on.  "You  saw  him  at  Mihailovskoye,  you 
went  for  a  ride  with  him.  .  .  ." 

"How  could  you  .  .  ."  she  began. 

"I  know,  I  know  everything!" 

"Your  face  seems  somehow  familiar  to  me," 
she  went  on,  "but  no.  .  .  ." 

"No,  I  am  unknown  to  you." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?" 
205 


THE  TWO  FRIENIDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Well,  I  know,"  I  repeated. 

I  understood  very  well  that  I  ought  to  take 
advantage  of  this  excellent  opening,  to  go  fur- 
ther, that  my  repetitions:  "I  know  everything, 
I  know,"*  were  becoming  ridiculous,  but  my 
emotion  was  so  great,  this  unexpected  meeting 
so  troubled  me,  I  was  so  overwhelmed  that  I 
was  absolutely  unable  to  say  anything  else. 
And  all  the  while  I  really  knew  nothing.  I 
felt  that  I  was  being  stupid,  that  from  a  mys- 
terious, omniscient  being  such  as  I  must  have 
seemed  to  her  at  first,  I  was  rapidly  turning 
into  a  sort  of  grinning  idiot  .  .  .  but  there  was 
no  help  for  it. 

"Yes,  I  know  everything,"  I  muttered  once 
more. 

She  looked  at  me,  hurriedly  got  up  and  was 
about  to  retreat. 

But  that  would  have  been  too  much.  I 
clutched  at  her  hand.  "For  God's  sake,"  I  be- 
gan, "sit  down,  listen  to  me.  .  .  ." 

She  thought  a  moment  and  sat  down. 

"I  told  you  just  now,"  I  went  on  with  fer- 
vour, "that  I  know  everything — that  is  nonsense 
— I  know  nothing,  absolutely  nothing;  I  don't 
206 


THREE  MEETINGS 

know  who  you  are  or  who  'he'  is  and  that  I 
could  astound  you  by  what  I  said  just  now  by 
the  column  you  must  put  down  to  chance  alone, 
a  strange,  incomprehensible  chance  which,  as 
though  in  mockery  of  me,  threw  me  beside  you 
twice  and  almost  in  exactly  the  same  way  and 
made  me  the  involuntary  witness  of  what  you 
desired  perhaps  to  keep  secret.  .  .  ." 

And  on  the  spot,  without  suppressing  or  al- 
tering anything,  I  told  her  the  whole  story :  my 
meeting  with  her  in  Sorrento,  in  Russia,  my 
vain  enquiries  at  Mihailovskoye,  even  my  con- 
versation in  Moscow  with  Madame  Shlykov 
and  her  sister. 

"Now  you  know  all  about  it,"  I  said  as  I  fin- 
ished my  story.  "I  am  not  going  to  describe 
to  you  what  a  deep,  what  a  shattering,  impres- 
sion you  made  upon  me ;  to  see  you  and  not  be 
enchanted  by  you  is  impossible.  On  the  other 
hand  there  is  no  object  in  my  telling  you  what 
sort  of  impression  it  was  either.  Think  un- 
der what  circumstances  I  saw  you  on  both  oc- 
casions. Believe  me,  I  have  no  inclination  to 
abandon  myself  to  mad  hopes,  but  you  will  un- 
derstand also  the  unutterable  emotion  which 
207 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

overwhelmed  me  to-day  and  will  pardon  me, 
will  pardon  the  awkward  duplicity  to  which  I 
brought  myself  to  resort,  to  attract  your  atten- 
tion if  only  for  a  moment.  .  .  ." 

She  listened  to  my  confused  explanations 
without  raising  her  head. 

"What  do  you  want  from  me?"  she  said  at 
last. 

"Want  ?  I  want  nothing  ...  I  am  happy  as 
it  is  .  .  ,  I  have  too  much  respect  for  the  se- 
crets of  others." 

"Really?  Yet  you  seem  so  far.  .  .  .  How- 
ever," she  went  on,  "I  don't  want  to  reproach 
you.  Anyone  would  have  done  the  same  in 
your  place.  Besides,  chance  really  has  so  per- 
sistently thrown  us  together.  That,  as  it  were, 
gives  you  a  certain  claim  on  my  candour.  Lis- 
ten, I  am  not  one  of  those  misunderstood  and 
unhappy  women  who  go  to  masked  balls  to 
chatter  to  the  first  person  they  meet  of  their 
sufferings,  who  want  to  find  hearts  filled  with 
sympathy  ...  I  need  no  one's  sympathy,  my 
own  heart  is  dead  and  I  have  come  here  sim- 
ply to  bury  it  for  ever." 

She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 
208 


THREE  MEETINGS 

"I  hope,"  she  went  on  with  some  effort,  "that 
you  do  not  take  my  words  for  the  ordinary 
masquerade  outpourings.  You  must  under- 
stand that  I  am  in  no  mood  for  that.  .  .  ." 
And  certainly  there  was  something  terrible  in 
her  voice  for  all  the  insinuating  softness  of  its 
tone. 

"I  am  Russian,"  she  said  in  Russian — till 
then  she  had  spoken  French — "though  I  have 
lived  little  in  Russia.  .  .  .  There  is  no  need 
for  you  to  know  my  name.  Anna  Fyodorovna 
is  an  old  friend  of  mine;  I  did  in  fact  go  down 
to  Mihailovskoye  in  her  sister's  name.  At  that 
time  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  see  him  openly 
.  .  .  and  people  were  beginning  to  talk  as  it 
was.  ...  At  that  time  there  were  obstacles, 
he  was  not  free.  .  .  .  But  the  man  whose  name 
should  have  been  mine,  the  man  with  whom 
you  saw  me,  has  abandoned  me." 

She  made  a  movement  with  her  hand  and 
paused. 

"You  really  do  not  know  him,  you  have  not 
met  him?" 

"Not  once." 

"He  has  been  almost  all  this  time  abroad. 
209 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

But  he  is  here  now.  .  .  .  That  is  all  my  story," 
she  added;  "you  see  there  is  nothing  mysteri- 
ous, nothing  special  in  it." 

"And  Sorrento?"  I  broke  in  timidly. 

"I  got  to  know  him  in  Sorrento,"  she  an- 
swered slowly,  and  she  sank  into  musing. 

We  were  both  silent.  1  was  strangely 
troubled.  I  was  sitting  beside  her,  beside  the 
woman  whose  image  had  so  often  haunted  my 
dreams  and  had  so  poignantly  thrilled  and  dis- 
turbed me ;  I  was  sitting  beside  her  and  felt  a 
chill  and  a  weight  on  my  heart.  I  knew  that 
nothing  would  come  of  this  meeting,  that  be- 
tween her  and  me  there  was  an  abyss,  that 
when  we  separated  we  should  part  for  ever. 
With  her  head  craned  forward  and  both  hands 
dropped  on  her  knees  she  sat  carelessly  and 
apathetically.  I  know  that  carelessness  of  grief 
that  cannot  be  healed,  I  know  the  apathy  of 
hopeless  misery! 

Masked  figures  walked  by  us  in  couples,  the 
strains  of  the  "mad  and  monotonous"  valse 
sounded  at  one  minute  dimly  in  the  distance, 
at  the  next  floated  to  us  in  shrill  gusts  of  sound ; 
the  gay  dance  music  moved  me  to  dejection 

210 


THREE  MEETINGS 

and  melancholy.  "Can  this  be  the  woman,"  I 
thought,  "who  appeared  to  me  at  the  window 
of  that  far-away  little  country  house  in  all  the 
glory  of  triumphant  beauty?"  .  .  .  And  yet  it 
seemed  as  though  time  had  not  touched  her. 
The  lower  part  of  her  face  not  covered  by  her 
lace  mask  had  almost  the  softness  of  childhood ; 
but  there  was  a  chilliness  about  it  as  about  a 
statue.  .  .  .  Galatea  had  stepped  back  onto  her 
pedestal  and  there  would  be  no  coming  down 
from  it  again. 

All  at  once  she  drew  herself  up,  looked 
towards  the  other  room  and  rose  from  her  seat. 

"Give  me  your  arm,"  she  said,  "make  haste, 
let  us  go,  make  haste." 

We  went  back  into  the  ballroom.  She 
walked  so  quickly  that  I  could  hardly  keep  up 
with  her.     She  stopped  at  a  column. 

"Let  us  wait  here,"  she  whispered. 

"You  are  looking  for  someone,"  I  began. 

But  she  paid  no  attention  to  me;  her  eyes 
were  fixed  intently  on  the  crowd.  Her  big 
black  eyes  looked  yearningly  and  menacingly 
from  under  the  black  velvet. 

I  turned  in  the  direction  of  her  eyes  and 

211 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

understood.  Along  the  corridor  formed  by  the 
rows  of  columns  and  the  wall  he,  the  man  I 
had  met  with  her  in  the  copse,  was  coming.  I 
knew  him  at  once;  he  had  scarcely  changed. 
His  fair  moustache  curled  as  handsomely,  his 
brown  eyes  gleamed  with  the  same  calm  and 
self-confident  gaiety.  He  was  walking  with- 
out haste,  and,  his  slender  figure  slightly  bent, 
was  telling  something  to  a  woman  in  a  domino 
who  was  on  his  arm.  As  he  reached  us  he 
suddenly  raised  his  head,  glanced  first  at  me 
and  then  at  the  woman  with  whom  I  was  stand- 
ing and  apparently  recognised  her,  recognised 
her  eyes,  for  his  eyebrows  twitched  faintly.  He 
screwed  up  his  eyes  and  his  lips  curved  in  a 
scarcely  perceptible  but  insufferably  insolent 
sneer.  He  bent  down  to  his  companion,  whis- 
pered a  couple  of  words  in  her  ear ;  she  at  once 
looked  round,  her  little  blue  eyes  hastily  scanned 
us  both  and,  softly  laughing,  she  shook  her  lit- 
tle hand  at  him  reprovingly.  She  faintly 
shrugged  one  shoulder  and  coquettishly  nestled 
up  to  him.  .  .  . 

I  turned  round  to  my  unknown  lady.     She 
was  looking  after  the  retreating  couple  and  sud- 

212 


THREE  MEETINGS 

denly  withdrawing  her  hand  from  my  arm 
rushed  towards  the  door.  I  was  hastening 
after  her,  but  turning  round  she  glanced  at  me 
in  such  a  way  that  I  made  her  a  deep  bow  and 
stayed  where  I  was.  I  felt  that  to  pursue  her 
would  be  coarse  and  stupid. 

"Please  tell  me,  old  man,"  I  said  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  afterwards  to  an  acquaintance  of  mine, 
who  was  a  living  directory  for  Petersburg, 
"who  is  that  tall,  handsome  man  with  mous- 
taches ?" 

"That  one?  .  .  .  He's  a  foreigner,  rather  an 
enigmatic  creature  who  very  rarely  appears  on 
our  horizon.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  .  .  ." 

I  went  home.  Since  then  I  have  never  met 
my  unknown  lady.  Knowing  the  name  of  the 
man  she  loved,  I  could  no  doubt  have  found 
out  who  she  was,  but  I  did  not  want  to.  I 
have  said  already  That  this  woman  had  appeared 
to  me  like  a  vision  and  like  a  vision  she  passed 
by  and  vanished  for  ever. 

1851. 


2tS 


A  QUiIET  BACKWATER 


A  QUIET   BACKWATER 

CHAPTER  I 

In  a  rather  large,  recently  whitewashed  room 
in  the  manor-lodge  of  the  village  of  Sasovo 
in  the  district  of  X.,  in  the  province  of  T.,  a 
young  man  in  an  overcoat  was  sitting  on  a 
narrow  wooden  chair  at  a  little  old  warped 
table,  looking  through  his  accounts.  Two  can- 
dles in  silver  travelling  candlesticks  were  burn- 
ing before  him ;  on  a  bench  in  one  corner  stood 
an  open  provision  basket,  in  another  a  servant 
was  putting  up  an  iron  bedstead.  A  samovar 
was  grumbling  and  hissing  behind  the  partition 
wall;  a  dog  was  turning  round  and  round  on 
some  hay  that  had  just  been  brought  in.  A 
peasant  with  a  big  beard  and  an  intelligent  face, 
in  a  new  full  coat  tied  round  the  waist  with  a 
red  scarf,  apparently  the  village  elder,  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  intently  watching  the 
young  man  at  the  table.  A  very  old,  diminu- 
•217 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

tive  piano  stood  against  one  wall  beside  a  chest 
of  drawers  as  ancient,  with  holes  instead  of 
locks ;  a  dark  looking-glass  was  visible  between 
the  windows ;  on  the  partition  wall  hung  an  old 
portrait  with  the  paint  peeling  off  the  canvas, 
representing  a  lady  in  a  farthingale,  with  pow- 
dered hair  and  a  black  ribbon  round  her  slen- 
der neck.  To  judge  from  the  perceptible 
crookedness  of  the  ceiling  and  the  slope  of  the 
floor  which  was  full  of  crevices,  the  Httle  lodge 
to  which  we  have  introduced  the  reader  had 
existed  for  long  ages ;  no  one  was  permanently 
living  in  it ;  it  served  for  the  landowner  on  his 
visits.  The  young  man  sitting  at  the  table  was 
the  owner  of  the  village  of  Sasovo.  He  had 
arrived  only  the  evening  before  from  a  larger 
estate  about  eighty  miles  away  and  was  intend- 
ing to  go  away  the  next  day,  after  inspecting 
the  establishment,  hearing  requests  from  the 
peasants  and  verifying  all  the  business  records. 
"That's  enough,"  he  said,  raising  his  head, 
"I  am  tired.  You  can  go  now,"  he  added,  ad- 
dressing the  village  elder.  "Come  early  to-mor- 
row, and  tell  the  peasants  in  the  morning  to 
come  here  in  a  body;  do  you  hear?" 
218 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  tell  the  rural  clerk  to  bring  me  his  re- 
port for  the  last  month.  You  did  well  to  white- 
wash the  walls,  though,"  the  gentleman  added, 
looking  round.  "It  makes  it  look  cleaner,  any- 
way." 

The  village  elder,  too,  looked  round  the  walls 
without  speaking. 

"Well,  now  go." 

The  village  elder  bowed  and  went  out. 

The  gentleman  stretched. 

"Hey !"  he  cried,  "bring  in  tea — it's  bedtime !" 

The  servant  went  into  the  other  room  and 
soon  returned  with  a  glass  of  tea,  a  string  of 
shop-made  bread  rings  and  a  little  jug  of  cream 
on  a  tray.  The  young  man  began  upon  his  tea 
but  had  not  sipped  his  glass  twice  when  there 
was  the  sound  of  visitors  coming  into  the  ad- 
joining room  and  a  squeaky  voice  asked: 

"Is  Vladimir  Sergeitch  Astahov  at  home? 
Can  we  see  him?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch    (this  was  the  name  of 
the  young  man  in  the  overcoat)  looked  at  his 
servant  in  perplexity  and  said  in  a  hurried  whis- 
per:   "Go  and  find  out  who  it  is." 
219 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

The  servant  went  out,  carefully  closing  be- 
hind him  the  door  which  did  not  shut  properly. 

"Tell  Vladimir  Sergeitch,"  the  same  squeaky 
voice  went  on,  "that  his  neighbour,  Ipatov, 
wants  to  see  him,  if  it  is  n<  t  disturbing  him ; 
and  that  another  neighbour,  ^-an  Ilyitch  Bodry- 
akov,  has  come  with  me;  he  too  wishes  to  pay 
his  respects." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  made  an  involuntary  ges- 
ture of  annoyance.  When  the  servant  came 
into  the  room,  however,  he  said  to  him : 

"Ask  them  in." 

And  he  stood  up  in  expectation  of  his  visitors. 

The  door  opened  and  the  visitors  came  in. 
One  of  them,  a  thick-set,  grey-headed  old  gen- 
tleman with  a  little  round  head  and  light-col- 
oured eyes  led  the  way;  the  other,  a  tall,  lean 
man  of  thirty-five  with  a  long,  swarthy  face 
and  hair  in  disorder,  followed,  swaying  from 
one  foot  to  the  other.  The  old  gentleman  was 
wearing  a  neat  grey  frock-coat  with  big  pearl 
buttons;  a  pink  cravat,  half  hidden  by  the 
turned-down  collar  of  his  white  shirt,  was 
loosely  swathed  round  his  neck;  his  legs  were 
adorned  with  gaiters,  his  plaid  trousers  were  of 
220 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

an  agreeable  check  and  altogether  he  made  an 
agreeable  impression.  His  companion,  on  the 
other  hand,  produced  a  less  favourable  effect 
on  the  spectator ;  he  wore  an  old  black  swallow- 
tail coat  closely  buttoned  up";  the  colour  of  his 
thick  winter  trousers  was  in  keeping  with  his 
coat;  there  was  no  sign  of  linen  at  his  neck  or 
his  wrists.  The  old  man  first  went  up  to 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  and,  bowing  politely,  said 
in  the  same  high  voice: 

"I  have  the  honour  to  introduce  myself :  your 
nearest  neighbour  and  your  kinsman,  indeed, 
Mihail  Nikolaitch  Ipatov.  I  have  long  desired 
the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.  I  hope  I 
am  not  disturbing  you." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  answered  that  he  was  de- 
lighted and  that  he,  too,  desired  .  .  .  and  that 
their  visit  was  not  disturbing  him  in  the  least 
.  .  .  and  would  they  not  sit  down  and  have 
tea? 

"And  this  gentleman,"  continued  the  old  man, 
listening  with  a  cordial  smile  to  Vladimir 
Sergeitch's  unfinished  sentences  and  indicating 
the  gentleman  in  the  swallowtail,  "is  also  a 
neighbour  of  yours  and  a  good  friend  of  mine, 

221 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Ivan  Ilyitch.  He  is  extremely  desiroits  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

The  gentleman  in  the  swallowtail — from 
whose  countenance  no  one  would  have  supposed 
that  he  was  capable  of  being  extremely  desir- 
ous of  anything — so  absent-minded  and  at  the 
same  time  drowsy  was  its  expression — the  gen- 
tleman in  the  swallowtail  bowed  listlessly  and 
awkwardly.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  bowed  in  re- 
sponse to  him  and  again  begged  his  visitors  to 
sit  down. 

They  did  so. 

"I  am  delighted,"  the  old  man  began  with  an 
agreeable  flourish  of^his  hands  while  his  com- 
panion fell  to  gazing  at  the  ceiling  with  his 
mouth  a  little  open,  "delighted  to  have  the  hon- 
our at  last  of  seeing  you  in  person.  Although 
you  reside  permanently  in  a  district  somewhat 
remote  from  these  parts, — yet  we  reckon  you 
so  to  say  as  properly  belonging  to  our  neigh- 
bourhood." 

"That's  very  flattering  to  me,"  replied  Vladi- 
mir Sergeitch. 

"Whether  flattering  or  not,  it's  the  truth. 
You  must  excuse  me,  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  we 

222 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

are  straightforward  people  here  in  the  X.  dis- 
trict, plain  in  our  ways ;  we  say  what  we  think 
without  beating  about  the  bush.  Even  on  name- 
days  we  don't  put  on  dress-coats  to  visit  each 
other.  Really !  That  is  the  established  custom 
with  us.  In  the  neighbouring  districts  they  call 
us  'the  frock-coats'  on  account  of  that  and  re- 
proach us  with  it  as  lack  of  breeding,  but  we 
don't  pay  any  attention  to  that!  Upon  my 
word,  to  live  in  the  country  and  stand  on  cere- 
mony like  that !" 

"To  be  sure,  what  can  be  better — in  the  coun- 
try— than  simplicity  of  manners?"  observed 
Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"And  yet,"  the  old  gentleman  continued,  "in 
our  district,  too,  there  are  most  intellectual  peo- 
ple, people  of  European  education  though  they 
don't  wear  dress-coats.  For  instance,  there  is 
our  historian,  Stefan  Stepanitch  Yevsyukov: 
he  is  studying  Russian  liisiory  from  the  most 
ancient  times  and  his  name  is  known  in  Peters- 
burg, a  very  learned  man.  In  our  town  there 
is  an  ancient  Swedish  cannon-ball,  you  know 
...  it  has  been  put  up  there  in  the  middle  of 
the  square  ...  it  was  he  discovered  it,  you 
223 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

know.  Yes,  indeed !  Anton  Karlitch  Zenteler, 
now  ...  he  has  studied  natural  history; 
though  indeed  they  say  all  Germans  succeed  in 
that  subject.  When  an  escaped  hyaena  was 
killed  here  ten  years  ago,  it  was  Anton  Karlitch 
who  discovered  that  it  really  was  a  hysena  owing 
to  the  n^'^nliar  l  nstruction  of  its  tail.  Then 
there's  Kaburdin,  luo,  one  of  our  landowners; 
he  mostly  writes  light  articles;  he  has  a  very 
lively  pen ;  his  articles  come  out  in  the  Galatea. 
Bodryakov  .  .  .  not  Ivan  Ilyitch,  no,  Ivan  II- 
yitch  does  not  care  for  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
the  other  Bodryakov,  Sergey  .  .  .  what  is  his 
father's  name,  Ivan  Ilyitch,  what  is  it?" 

"Sergeitch,"  Ivan  Ilyitch  prompted  him. 

"Yes,  Sergey  Sergeitch — his  hobby  is  poetry. 
Well,  of  course  he  is  not  a  Pushkin,  but  some- 
times he  is  as  smart  as  any  Petersburg  fellow. 
Do  you  know  his  epigram  on  Agey  Fomitch?" 

"What  Agey  Fomitch;"' 

"Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  am  always  for- 
getting that  you  are  not  a  resident  here,  after 
all.  Pie  is  our  Chief  of  Police.  A  very  funny 
epigram  it  was.  Ivan  Dyitch,  you  remember  it, 
don't  you?" 

224 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Agey  Fomitch,"  Bodryakov  began  indiffer- 
ently : 

"He's  honoured   in  our   Nobles'   Hall 
Not  without  reason — for,  in  brief," 

"I  must  tell  you,"  Ipatov  interposed,  "that 
he  was  elected  almost  unanimously,  for  he  is  a 
most  worthy  man." 

"He's  honoured  in  our  Nobles'  Hall 
Not  without  reason — ^for,  in  brief, 
He  eats  and  drinks  to  beat  us  all! 
So  surely  he's  a  lirst-rate  Chief !" 

Bodryakov  repeated. 

The  old  gentleman  laughed. 

"He — he — he!  that's  not  bad,  is  it?  Ever 
since — would  you  believe  it — all  of  us  when  we 
say,  for  instance,  good-day  to  Agey  Fomitch, 
are  sure  to  add,  'Surely  he's  a  first-rate  Chief !' 
And  do  you  imagine  that  Agey  Fomitch  is 
vexed  at  it?  Not  a  bit.  No — that  is  not  the 
way  with  us.    Ask  Ivan  Ilyitch  here." 

Ivan  Ilyitch  merely  looked  away. 

"Be  vexed  over  a  joke,  how  could  one !  Take 
Ivan  Ilyitch,  for  instance :  his  nickname  among 
us   is   the   Adjustable    Soul   because   he   very 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

readily  agrees  to  anything.  Well,  do  you  sup- 
pose Ivan  Ilyitch  resents  it?    Not  he!" 

Ivan  Ilyitch  looked,  slowly  blinking,  first 
at  the  old  gentleman  and  then  at  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

The  nickname  of  the  Adjustable  Soul  cer- 
tainly suited  Ivan  Ilyitch,  There  was  not  a 
trace  in  him  of  what  is  called  will  or  character. 
Anyone  could  take  him  wherever  he  chose ;  one 
had  only  to  say  to  him,  "Ivan  Ilyitch,  come 
along,"  and  he  would  take  his  hat  and  come; 
but  if  someone  else  turned  up  and  said,  "Ivan 
Ilyitch,  don't  go,"  he  would  put  down  his  hat 
and  stay.  He  was  of  a  quiet  and  peace-loving 
disposition,  he  had  been  a  bachelor  all  his  life, 
he  did  not  play  cards  but  liked  sitting  by  the 
players  and  gazing  into  their  faces.  He  could 
not  get  on  without  company  and  detested  soli- 
tude; he  sank  into  depression  when  alone;  how- 
ever, that  happened  to  him  very  rarely.  He 
had  another  peculiarity:  getting  up  early  in 
the  morning,  he  used  to  sing  in  a  subdued  voice 
an  old  ballad: 

"Once   upon   a   time   a  baron 
Lived  a  simple  country  life,"  .  .  , 

226 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Thanks  to  this  peculiarity,  he  was  also  nick- 
named the  hawfinch;  it  is  well  known  that  a 
caged  hawfinch  sings  only  once  in  the  day,  in 
the  early  morning.  Such  was  Ivan  Ilyitch 
Bodryakov. 

The  conversation  between  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
and  Ipatov  lasted  a  good  time  but  did  not  again 
take  such  an  intellectual  turn.  The  old  man 
questioned  Vladimir  Sergeitch  about  his  es- 
tate, about  his  forest  lands  and  other  holdings, 
about  the  improvements  he  had  made  or  was 
intending  to  make  in  the  management  of  his 
land;  he  communicated  some  of  his  own  ob- 
servations ;  he  advised  him,  among  other  things, 
as  a  means  of  getting  rid  of  tussocks  in  his 
meadows,  to  scatter  oats  round  them,  which 
would  induce  the  pigs  to  dig  them  up  with 
their  snouts  and  so  on.  At  last,  however,  ob- 
serving that  Vladimir  Sergeitch's  eyes  were  al- 
most closing  and  that  even  his  speech  betrayed 
a  certain  languor  and  incoherence,  the  old  gen- 
tlemen got  up  and,  bowing  affably,  announced 
that  he  did  not  intend  to  intrude  upon  him  any 
longer  but  that  he  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure 
227 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  welcoming  him  to  dimier  no  later  than  the 
following  day. 

"And  to  my  village,"  he  added,  "I  won't  say 
any  child  but  I  make  bold  to  say  any  hen  or 
any  peasant  woman  you  come  across  would 
show  you  the  way;  you  have  only  to  ask  for 
Ipatovka.  The  horses  will  get  there  of  them- 
selves." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  replied  with  some  slight 
hesitation,  which  was  characteristic  of  him, 
however,  that  he  would  try  to  come  .  .  .  that 
if  nothing  prevented  him.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  no,  we  shall  expect  you  for  certain," 
the  old  gentleman  interrupted  him  genially  and 
he  pressed  his  hand  warmly  and  rapidly  went 
out  of  the  room,  half  turning  in  the  doorway 
to  exclaim,  "without  ceremony!" 

The  Adjustable  Soul,  Bodr3^akov,  bowed 
mutely  and  vanished  after  his  companion, 
stumbling  over  the  threshold. 

After  seeing  his  unexpected  visitors  out, 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  immediately  undressed, 
wtnt  to  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

Vbdimir  Sergeitch  Astahov  belonged  to  that 
class  of  people  who  after  cautiously  testing 
228 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

their  powers  in  two  or  three  different  careers 
say  of  themselves  that  they  have  made  up 
their  minds  to  look  at  life  from  a  practical 
point  of  view  and  devote  their  leisure  to  increas- 
ing their  income.  He  was  by  no  means  stupid, 
somewhat  stingy  and  very  reasonable,  was 
fond  of  reading,  of  society,  of  music,  but  all 
in  moderation  .  .  ,  and  he  behaved  with  the 
utmost  propriety.  He  was  only  twenty-seven. 
Young  men  like  him  have  become  numerous 
of  late.  He  was  of  medium  height,  with  a  good 
figure,  his  features  were  pleasing  but  small ; 
their  expression  scarcely  ever  changed,  there 
was  always  the  same  cool,  clear  look  in  his  eyes, 
— only  occasionally  softened  by  a  slight  shade 
of  melancholy  or  boredom;  a  polite  smile  al- 
ways hovered  about  his  lips.  He  had  splendid 
hair,  fair,  silky,  long  and  curly.  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  was  reckoned  to  have  about  six  hun- 
dred serfs  on  good  land,  and  Ije  had  thoughts 
of  marrying,  marrying  by  inclination  but  at 
the  same  time  to  advantage.  He  particularly 
wanted  to  find  a  wife  with  good  connections. 
He  considered  that  he  needed  wider  connec- 
tions. In  fact,  he  deserved  the  title  of  a  "gen- 
229 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

tleman" — a  word  which  has  lately  come  into 
fashion. 

Getting  up  next  morning  as  usual  very  early, 
our  gentleman  set  to  work  and  did  his  busi- 
ness rather  well,  which  is  more  than  one  can 
say  of  all  practical  young  men  among  us  in 
Russia.  He  listened  patiently  to  the  confused 
complaints  and  requests  of  the  peasants,  sat- 
isfied them  as  far  as  he  could,  went  into  the 
quarrels  and  disputes  between  relations,  talked 
some  people  round,  reproved  others,  checked 
the  rural  clerk's  report,  exposed  two  or  three 
pieces  of  sharp  practice  on  the  part  of  the 
village  elder — in  fact,  he  settled  things  so  that 
he  felt  satisfied  with  himself,  and  the  peas- 
ants as  they  went  home  spoke  well  of  him.  In 
spite  of  what  he  had  said  to  Ipatov  the  night 
before,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  made  up  his  mind 
to  dine  and  had  even  ordered  his  travelling 
cook  to  make  him  his  favourite  giblet  and  rice 
soup;  but  all  at  once,  in  consequence,  perhaps, 
of  the  satisfaction  which  he  had  been  feeling 
since  the  morning,  he  stood  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  slapped  himself  on  the  forehead 
and  with  a  certain  recklessness  exclaimed, 
230 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Suppose  I  do  go  to  that  lively  old  gossip !" 
No  sooner  said  than  done;  half  an  hour  later 
he  was  sitting  in  his  new  chaise  drawn  by  four 
good  peasant  horses,  driving  to  Ipatovka,  which 
was  reckoned  a  distance  of  eight  miles  by  an 
excellent  road. 


231 


CHAPTER  II 

MiHAiL  NiKOLAiTCH  IpATOv  had  two  houscs 
facing  each  other  on  opposite  sides  of  a  huge 
pond.  A  long  dam  planted  with  silver  poplars 
bordered  this  pond;  almost  on  a  level  with  the 
dam  could  be  seen  the  red  roof  of  a  water-mill. 
Built  exactly  alike,  painted  the  same  lilac  col- 
our, the  Httle  houses  looked  as  though  they 
were  glancing  at  one  another  with  the  shining 
panes  of  their  clean  little  windows  across  the 
broad  expanse  of  water.  There  was  a  round 
verandah  in  the  front  of  each  house  and  a 
pointed  portico  rose  above  it  supported  by  four 
closely  set  white  columns.  There  was  an  old 
park  all  round  the  pond :  lime-trees  formed  ave- 
nues across  it  and  stood  in  close  groups  about 
it;  ancient  pines  with  pale-yellow  trunks,  dark 
oaks,  splendid  ash-trees  lifted  their  solitary  high 
crests  here  and  there ;  the  dense  foliage  of  over- 
grown lilacs  and  acacias  reached  the  very  walls, 
232 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

covering  all  but  the  front  of  each  house,  from 
which  winding  brick  paths  ran  down  the  slope. 
Bright  coloured  ducks  and  white  and  grey 
geese  were  swimming  in  separate  flocks  over 
the  shining  water  of  the  pond;  it  was  never 
covered  with  duckweed,  thanks  to  the  numer- 
ous springs  which  rose  at  the  bottom  of  a  steep, 
rocky  ravine  at  its  "head."  The  position  of 
the  houses  was  fine:  inviting,  secluded  and 
beautiful. 

In  one  of  the  little  houses  lived  Mihail  Niko- 
laitch  himself;  in  the  other  lived  his  mother, 
a  decrepit  old  lady  of  seventy.  When  he  drove 
on  to  the  dam  Vladimir  Sergeitch  did  not  know 
to  which  house  to  go.  He  looked  round — a  serf 
boy  was  standing,  barefoot,  on  a  half-rotten 
log,  angling.    Vladimir  Sergeitch  called  to  him. 

"Whom  do  you  want,  the  old  mistress  or  the 
young  master?"  asked  the  boy,  without  taking 
his  eyes  off  the  float. 

"What  mistress?"  answered  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch.    "I  want  Mihail  Nikolaitch." 

"Ah,  the  young  master!  Then  go  to  the 
right."  And  the  boy  pulled  up  his  line  and 
drew  out  of  the  motionless  water  a  small,  sil- 
233 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

very  carp.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  to  the 
right. 

Mihail  Nikolaitch  was  playing  draughts  with 
the  Adjustable  Soul  when  Vladimir  Sergeitch's 
arrival  was  announced.  He  was  extremely  de- 
lighted, jumped  up  from  his  easy-chair,  ran 
into  the  hall  and  in  the  hall  kissed  him  three 
times. 

"You  find  me  with  my  invariable  compan- 
ion, Vladimir  Sergeitch,"  said  the  talkative  old 
gentleman,  "with  Ivan  Ilyitch,  who,  by  the  way, 
is  absolutely  enchanted  by  your  affability  (Ivan 
Ilyitch  looked  into  the  corner  and  said  noth- 
ing). He  has  been  kind  enough  to  stay  and 
play  draughts  with  me  while  all  my  young  peo- 
ple have  gone  into  the  park ;  but  I  will  send  for 
them  at  once." 

"But  why  trouble  them  .  .  ."  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch was  beginning. 

"Oh,  dear,  it  is  no  trouble  whatever!  Hey, 
Vanka,  make  haste  and  run  after  the  young 
ladies  .  .  .  tell  them  a  visitor  has  come.  And 
how  do  you  like  the  place;  it  is  not  bad,  is  it? 
Kaburdin  wrote  a  poem  about  it.  'Ipatovka, 
lovely  haven'  is  how  it  begins, — the  rest  is  very 
234 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

nice,  too,  only  I  don't  remember  it.  The  park 
is  too  large,  that  is  the  only  pity:  beyond  my 
means.  And  these  two  houses,  so  alike,  as 
perhaps  you  have  noticed,  were  built  by  two 
brothers,  my  father  Nikolay  and  my  Uncle 
Sergey;  they  laid  out  the  park,  too;  they  were 
paragons  of  friendship  .  .  .  Damon  and  .  .  . 
there,  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  other." 

"Pythion,"  observed  Ivan  Ilyitch. 

"Come,  is  that  it?  Well,  it  does  not  r:cit- 
ter.  (At  home  the  old  gentleman  talked  in  a 
much  more  free  and  easy  manner.)  As  you 
are,  I  daresay,  aware,  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  I 
am  a  widower ;  I  have  lost  my  wife ;  my  elder 
children  are  at  boarding  school ;  I  have  only  the 
two  younger  ones  with  me  and  my  sister-in- 
law,  my  wife's  sister;  you  will  see  her  imme- 
diately. But  why  am  I  olifering  you  nothing? 
Ivan  Ilyitch,  go  and  see  about  refreshments, 
my  dear  fellow.  .  .  .  What  sort  of  vodka  do 
you  prefer,  may  I  ask?" 

"I  never  drink  anything  before  dinner." 

"Upon  my  word,  is  it  possible!  However, 
as  you  please.  A  guest  must  be  honoured  and 
must  not  be  crossed.  We  are  plain  people,  you 
235 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

know.  We  live  here,  I  make  bold  to  say,  not 
in  barbarous  rusticity,  but  in  peace  and  quiet, 
a  solitary  nook — that's  what  it  is!  But  why 
don't  you  sit  down?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  sat  down,  still  holding  his 
hat. 

"Allow  me  to  relieve  you,"  said  Ipatov,  and, 
with  punctilious  courtesy  taking  his  hat  away 
from  him,  he  put  it  in  the  corner,  then  came 
back,  looked  into  his  guest's  face  with  a  cor- 
dial smile  and,  not  knowing  what  agreeable 
speech  to  make  to  him,  asked  him  in  the  most 
genial  way  whether  he  liked  draughts. 

"I  play  all  games  very  badly,"  answered 
Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"And  that  is  quite  right  on  your  part,"  an- 
swered Ipatov,  "but  draughts  is  hardly  a  game, 
but  rather  an  amusement,  a  pastime;  isn't  it, 
Ivan  Ilyitch?" 

Ivan  Ilyitch  looked  at  Ipatov  with  an  apa- 
thetic expression  which  seemed  to  say,  "The 
devil  knows  which  it  is — a  game  or  an  amuse- 
ment" ;  but  after  a  brief  pause  he  brought  out  : 

"Yes,  draughts  is  all  right." 

"Chess,  now,  they  say,  is  a  different  matter," 
236 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Ipatov  went  on — "they  say  it  is  a  very  difficult 
game.  But  to  my  mind  ...  ah,  but  here  are 
my  young  people,"  he  interrupted  himself,  look- 
ing through  the  half-open  glass  door  that  led 
into  the  park. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  got  up,  turned  round  and 
saw  first  two  little  girls  about  ten  years  old  in 
pink  cotton  dresses  and  big  hats — running 
nimbly  up  the  verandah  steps;  not  far  behind 
them  appeared  a  tall,  plump,  graceful  girl  of 
twenty,  wearing  a  dark  dress.  They  all  came 
into  the  room ;  the  little  girls  made  formal  curt- 
seys to  the  visitor. 

"Let  me  introduce  my  little  daughters,"  said 
the  old  gentleman.  "This  is  Katya  and  this  is 
Nastya,  and  this  is  my  sistci  In-iaw,  Marya 
Pav]ov"i.  whom  I  have  had  the  pleasure  ot 
mentioning  to  you  already.  I  hope  you  will  be 
good  friends." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  bowed  to  Marya  Pav- 
lovna ;  she  responded  with  a  hardly  perceptible 
inclination  of  her  head. 

Marya  Pavlovna  had  a  large,  open  knife  in 
her  hand;  her  thick  brown  hair  was  a  little 
untidy,  a  small  green  leaf  had  caught  in  it,  a 
237 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

tress  had  come  loose  from  the  comb ;  there  was 
a  flush  on  her  dark  skin,  her  red  hps  were 
parted;  her  dress  looked  crumpled.  She  was 
out  of  breath,  her  eyes  were  shining;  evidently 
she  had  been  working  in  the  garden.  She  went 
out  of  the  room  at  once  and  the  little  girls  ran 
after  her. 

"To  smarten  themselves  up  a  little,"  ob- 
served the  old  gentleman,  addressing  Vladimir 
Sergeitch;  "they  must  think  of  that,  of  course." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  smirked  in  response  and 
grew  a  little  thoughtful.  Marya  Pavlovna  had 
made  an  impression  upon  him.  It  was  many 
years  since  he  had  seen  such  a  typical  beauty 
of  the  Russian  steppes.  She  soon  came  back, 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  sat  without  mov- 
ing. She  had  done  her  hair,  but  she  had  not 
changed  her  dress  and  had  not  even  put  on 
cuffs.  There  was  an  expression  on  her  face 
not  so  much  of  pride  as  of  severity — almost  of 
roughness;  her  brow  was  broad  and  low,  her 
nose  was  short  and  straight ;  from  time  to  time 
her  lips  curved  in  a  slow,  languid  smile;  there 
was  a  scornful  frown  on  her  straight  brows. 
Nearly  all  the  time  she  kept  her  big  dark  eyes 
238 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

cast  down.  "I  know,"  her  ungracious  young 
face  seemed  to  be  saying,  "I  know  that  you  are 
all  looking  at  me;  well,  look;  you  weary  me." 
When  she  did  raise  her  eyes,  there  was  some- 
thing wild,  beautiful  and  unseeing  in  them  that 
recalled  the  eyes  of  a  doe.  She  was  beauti- 
fully proportioned,  A  classical  poet  would 
have  compared  her  to  Ceres  or  Juno. 

"What  were  you  doing  in  the  garden?" 
Ipatov  asked,  trying  to  draw  her  into  the  con- 
versation. 

"I  was  cutting  off  the  dead  branches  and 
digging  the  flower-beds,"  she  said  in  a  rather 
low,  agreeable  and  resonant  voice. 

"Well,  and  are  you  tired?" 

"The  children  are  tired;  I  am  not." 

"I  know,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  smile, 
"you  are  a  regular  Bobelina!  And  have  you 
been  in  to  Grandmamma?" 

"Yes ;  she  is  asleep." 

"Are  you  fond  of  flowers?"  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  asked  her. 

"Yes." 

"Why  don't  you  put  your  hat  on  when  you 
239 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

go  out?"  Ipatov  observed  to  her;  "see  how  red 
and  sunburnt  you  are." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  face  and  said 
nothing.  Her  hands  were  not  large  but  rather 
broad  and  red.     She  did  not  wear  gloves. 

"And  are  you  fond  of  gardening?"  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  asked  again. 

"Yes." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  to  describe  a  beau- 
tiful garden  belonging  to  a  wealthy  landowner 
in  his  neighbourhood :  "The  German  head  gar- 
dener alone  receives  a  salary  of  two  thousand 
silver  roubles,"  he  observed  among  other  things. 

"And  what  is  the  name  of  the  gardener?" 
Ivan  Ilyitch  asked  suddenly. 

"I  don't  remember;  Meyer  or  Miller,  I  be- 
lieve.   Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  Ivan  Ilyitch,  "simply  to  know 
his  surname." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  on  with  his  descrip- 
tion. The  little  girls,  Mihail  Nikolaitch's 
daughters,  came  in,  quietly  sat  down  and  be- 
gan quietly  listening. 

A  servant  n^-pr-^mr]  in  the  doorv/ay  and  an- 
nounced that  Yegor  Kapitonitch  hzd  arrived. 
240 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Ah !    Ask  him  in,  ask  him  in !"  cried  Ipatov. 

A  short,  stout  old  gentleman  came  in,  one 
of  those  people  who  are  described  as  "stubby" 
or  "stumpy,"  with  a  puffy  and  at  the  same  time 
wrinkled  face  that  recalled  a  baked  apple.  He 
had  on  a  grey  Hungarian  jacket  with  black 
frogs  and  a  stand-up  collar ;  his  full  coffee-col- 
oured plush  breeches  ended  far  above  his 
ankles. 

"How  are  you,  honoured  Yegor  Kapiton- 
itch !"  exclaimed  Ipatov,  going  to  meet  him. 
"It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  seen  you." 

"But  Mihail  Nikolaitch,"  began  Yegor  Kapi- 
tonitch  in  a  lisping  and  plaintive  voice,  first 
bowing  to  all  present,  "you  know  I  am  not  a 
free  man,  am  I?" 

"In  what  way  are  you  not  a  free  man,  Yegor 
Kapitonitch  ?" 

"Why,  Mihail  Nikolaitch,  my  family,  things 
to  see  to.  .  .  .  And  then  there  is  Matryona 
Markovna." 

And  he  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"What  about  Matryona  Markovna?"     And 
Ipatov  winked  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch  as  though 
wishing  to  secure  his  attention. 
241 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  Yegor  Kapitonitch, 
sitting  down,  "she  is  dissatisfied  with  me,  as 
though  you  didn't  know.  Whatever  I  say  it 
is  always  wrong,  unrefined,  improper.  And 
why  it  is  improper,  God  only  knows.  And  the 
young  ladies — that  is,  my  daughters — do  the 
same,  following  their  mother's  example.  I  am 
not  saying  anything  against  her,  of  course; 
Matryona  Markovna  is  an  excellent  woman  but 
very  strict  about  manners." 

"But  upon  my  word,  Yegor  Kapitonitch, 
what  is  there  wrong  with  your  manners?" 

"That's  just  what  I  think  myself,  but  it  seems 
she  is  hard  to  please.  Yesterday,  for  instance, 
I  said  at  table,  'Matryona  Markovna'  (and 
Yegor  Kapitonitch  put  a  most  ingratiating  in- 
tonation into  his  voice),  'Matryona  Markovna,' 
I  said,  'how  careless  Alyoshka  is  with  the 
horses!  He  does  not  know  how  to  drive;  he 
has  quite  knocked  up  the  black  stallion !'  And 
dear  me,  how  Matryona  Markovna  did  flare  up 
and  began  crying  shame  on  me!  'You  don't 
Know  how  to  express  yourself  decently  in  la- 
dies' society,'  she  said;  the  young  ladies  jumped 
up  and  left  the  table  at  once,  and  next  day  the 
2dp. 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Biryulovsky  young  ladies,  my  wife's  nieces, 
knew  all  about  it.  And  what  improper  expres- 
sion did  I  use  ?  Judge  for  yourself !  And 
whatever  I  say — I  may  speak  a  little  incau- 
tiously sometimes;  everyone  does,  especially  at 
home — the  Biryulovsky  young  ladies  know  all 
about  it  next  day.  I  simply  don't  know  what 
to  do.  Sometimes  I  am  sitting  like  this  think- 
ing, as  my  way  is — as  perhaps  you  are  aware 
I  breathe  rather  heavily,  and  Matryona  Mark- 
ovna  scolds  me  again — 'Don't  snuffle,'  she  says, 
'nobody  snuffles  nowadays !'  'Why  are  you 
scolding,  Matryona  Markovna?'  I  say;  'you 
ought  to  be  sorry  for  me,  and  you  are  scolding.' 
Well,  I  have  had  to  give  up  thinking  at  home. 
I  sit  and  simply  look  at  the  floor  like  this,  yes, 
indeed.  And  the  other  day  we  were  going  to 
bed.  'Matryona  Markovna,'  I  said,  'it's  dread- 
ful how  you  spoil  your  page,  my  dear;  he  is 
such  a  little  pig,'  said  I,  'he  might  wash  his  face 
on  Sunday,  anyway.'  Well,  I  hinted  it  deli- 
cately enough,  I  should  have  thought,  but  I 
did  not  please  her  this  time,  either;  Matryona 
Markovna  began  putting  me  to  shame  again. 
'You  do  not  know  how  to  behave  in  the  com- 
243 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

pany  of  a  lady,'  said  she,  and  next  day  the 
Biryulovsky  young  ladies  knew  all  about  it. 
So  how  can  I  have  the  heart  to  go  out  paying 
visits,  Mihail  Nikolaitch?" 

"I  am  astonished  at  what  you  tell  me,"  re- 
plied Ipatov ;  "I  should  never  have  expected  this 
of  Matryona  Markovna;  I  should  have  thought 
she  was  .  .  ." 

"The  best  of  women,"  Yegor  Kapitonitch 
caught  him  up,  "an  exemplary  wife  and  mother, 
one  may  say,  but  strict  on  the  point  of  man- 
ners. She  says  that  in  everything,  what  is 
needed  is  ensemble  and  that  I  have  not  got  that. 
I  don't  speak  French,  as  you  know,  I  only  un- 
derstand it.  But  what  is  this  ensemble  which 
I  am  lacking  in?" 

Ipatov,  who  was  not  very  great  at  French 
himself,  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"And  how  are  your  children,  your  sons,  that 
is?"  he  asked  Yegor  Kapitonitch  after  a  brief 
pause. 

Yegor  Kapitonitch  looked  at  him  sideways. 

"My  sons?  They  are  all  right.  I  am 
pleased  with  them.  The  young  ladies  have  got 
out  of  hand,  but  I  am  satisfied  with  my  sons. 
244 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Alyoshka  is  doing  well  in  the  service,  his  su- 
periors praise  him;  my  Alyoshka  is  a  shrewd 
lad.  Mihets  is  different;  he  has  turned  out  a 
sort  of  a  philanthropist." 

"Why  a  philanthropist?" 

"Goodness  knows;  never  speaks  to  anyone, 
fights  shy  of  us  all.  Matryona  Markovna 
only  makes  him  worse.  'Why  do  you  follow 
your  father's  example?'  she  says.  'You  should 
respect  him,  but  you  should  imitate  your  moth- 
er's manners.'  When  he  is  grown  up,  he  will 
get  on  too." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  asked  Ipatov  to  intro- 
duce him  to  Yegor  Kapitonitch.  A  conversa- 
tion followed.  Marya  Pavlovna  took  no  part 
in  it;  Ivan  Ilyitch  sat  down  beside  her,  but  he 
only  said  two  words  to  her;  the  little  girls 
went  up  to  him  and  began  telling  him  some- 
thing in  a  whisper.  .  .  .  The  housekeeper,  a 
thin  old  woman  with  a  dark  kerchief  on  her 
head,  came  in  and  announced  that  dinner  was 
ready.     They  all  went  into  the  dining-room. 

Dinner  lasted  rather  a  long  time.  Ipatov 
kept  a  good  cook  and  had  good  wine,  though 
it  did  not  come  from  Moscow  but  from  the 
245 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

town  of  the  province.  Ipatov  lived  in  com- 
fort; he  had  no  more  than  three  hundred  serfs 
but  he  v^as  in  debt  to  no  one  and  his  estate 
was  in  good  order.  The  master  of  the  house 
himself  did  most  of  the  talking  at  dinner. 
Yegor  Kapitonitch  seconded  him  but  did  not 
forget  to  look  after  himself :  he  ate  and  drank 
in  fine  style.  Marya  Pavlovna  was  silent,  only 
answering  with  a  half  smile  the  hurried  say- 
ings of  the  two  little  girls  sitting  one  on  each 
side  of  her;  they  seemed  to  be  very  fond  of 
her.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  attempted  several 
times  to  talk  to  her  but  with  no  great  success. 
The  Adjustable  Soul,  Bodryakov,  was  sloth- 
ful and  apathetic  even  in  his  eating. 

After  dinner  they  all  went  on  to  the  veran- 
dah to  drink  coffee.  The  weather  was  lovely; 
the  sweet  fragrance  of  lime-trees  in  full  flower 
was  wafted  from  the  park;  the  summer  air, 
slightly  freshened  by  the  thick  shade  of  the 
trees  and  the  dampness  of  the  pond  close  by, 
was  full  of  caressing  warmth. 

All  at  once  from  beyond  the  poplars  of  the 
dam  came  the  sound  of  scurrying  horses'  hoofs 
and  a  moment  later  a  lady  wearing  a  long  rid- 
246 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

ing  habit  and  a  round  grey  hat  came  into  sight 
mounted  on  a  bay  horse ;  she  was  riding  at  a 
gallop;  a  page  rode  behind  on  a  small  white 
cob. 

"Ah!"  cried  Ipatov,  "here  is  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna — what  a  pleasant  surprise !" 

"Alone;"'  asked  Marya  Pavlovna,  who  had 
till  that  moment  stood  motionless  by  the  door. 

"Yes,  alone  ...  I  suppose  something  has 
detained  Pyotr  Alexeitch," 

Marya  Pavlovna  looked  up  from  under  her 
brows;  her  face  was  suffused  with  colour,  and 
she  turned  away. 

Meanwhile  the  lady  on  horseback  rode 
through  the  little  gate  into  the  garden,  galloped 
up  to  the  terrace  and  leapt  lightly  to  the  ground 
without  waiting  for  her  page  or  Ipatov,  who  was 
coming  to  meet  her.  Dexterously  picking  up 
the  hem  of  her  long  skirt,  she  ran  up  the  steps 
and,  as  she  landed  on  the  verandah,  she  called 
gaily : 

"Here  I  am !" 

"You  are  very  welcome !"  said  Ipatov.  "How 
unexpected !  How  delightful !  Allow  me  to 
kiss  your  hand." 

247 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  visitor,  "only  pull 
off  my  glove  yourself;  I  can't  do  it."  And 
stretching  out  her  hand  to  him,  she  nodded  to 
Marya  Pavlovna.  "Masha,  only  fancy,  my 
brother  won't  be  here  to-day,"  she  said  with  a 
faint  sigh. 

"I  see  that  he  is  not  here,"  Marya  Pavlovna 
answered  in  an  undertone. 

"He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  is  busy. 
Don't  be  angry.  Good  afternoon,  Yegor  Kapi- 
tonitch,  good  afternoon,  Ivan  Ilyitch,  good  af- 
ternoon, children.  .  .  .  Vassya,"  said  the  vis- 
itor, addressing  her  page,  "tell  them  to  walk 
Beauty  up  and  down  a  little;  do  you  hear? 
Masha,  give  me  a  pin,  please,  to  fasten  up  my 
train.  .  .  .  Mihail  Nikolaitch,  come  here." 

Ipatov  went  nearer  to  her. 

"Who  is  that  new  person?"  she  asked  in  a 
fairly  loud  voice. 

"A  neighbour,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  Astahov, 
you  know,  the  owner  of  Sasovo.  Shall  I 
introduce  him?" 

"Very  well  .  .  .  presently.  Oh,  what  lovely 
weather,"  she  went  on.  "Yegor  Kapitonitch, 
248 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

tell  me,  does  Matryona  Markovna  scold  even 
in  weather  like  this?" 

"Matryona  Markovna  does  not  scold  in  any 
weather,  Madam;  she  is  only  strict  about  man- 
ners." 

"And  what  are  the  Biryulovsky  young  ladies 
doing?  They  know  everything  next  day,  don't 
they?" 

And  she  broke  into  a  ringing,  silvery  laugh. 

"You  are  always  pleased  to  laugh,"  said 
Yegor  Kapitonitch,  "But  when  should  one 
laugh  if  not  at  your  age?" 

"Yegor  Kapitonitch,  don't  be  angry,  there's 
a  dear !     Oh,  I  am  tired,  let  me  sit  down." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  sank  into  a  low  chair 
and  roguishly  pulled  her  hat  right  down  to  her 
eyes. 

Ipatov  brought  Vladimir  Sergeitch  up  to  her. 

"Allow  me,  Nadyeshda  Alexyevna,  to  pre- 
sent to  you  our  neighbour,  Monsieur  Astahov, 
of  whom  you  have  probably  heard  a  great 
deal." 

Vladimir   Sergeitch   bowed   and   Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  looked  up  at  him  from  under  the 
brim  of  her  round   hat. 
249 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  Veretyev  is  our 
neighbour,"  Ipatov  went  on,  addressing  Vladi- 
mir Sergeitch.  "She  Hves  here  with  her 
brother,  Pyotr  Alexeitch,  formerly  a  lieutenant 
in  the  Guards.  She  is  a  great  friend  of  my  sis- 
ter-in-law and  is  agreeably  disposed  to  us  all." 

"A  full  and  complete  description,"  said 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  with  a  mocking  smile, 
looking  at  Vladimir  Sergeitch  from  under  her 
hat  again. 

And  Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  thinking  mean- 
while, "She  is  very  pretty,  too."  And  cer- 
tainly Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  was  a  very  charm- 
ing girl — slim  and  graceful,  she  looked  much 
younger  than  she  was.  She  was  twenty-seven. 
She  had  a  round  face  and  a  little  head,  fluffy, 
fair  hair,  a  sharp,  almost  saucily  turned-up 
nose,  and  gay,  rather  sly  eyes.  Her  eyes  fairly 
gleamed  and  flashed  with  mockery.  Her  ex- 
tremely lively  and  mobile  features  wore  at  times 
an  amusing  expression ;  they  seemed  to  be  alive 
with  humour.  From  time  to  time,  as  a  rule 
quite  suddenly,  a  shade  of  pensiveness  would 
pass  over  her  face,  and  then  it  became  gentle 
and  good-natured ;  but  she  could  not  be 
250 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

thoughtful  for  long.  She  readily  detected  the 
comic  side  of  people  and  drew  rather  good 
caricatures.  From  her  birth  upwards  she  had 
been  spoiled  by  everyone  and  that  could  be 
seen  from  the  first  moment :  people  who  have 
been  spoiled  in  their  childhood  retain  a  certain 
stamp  all  their  lives.  Her  brother  was  fond 
of  her,  though  he  did  declare  that  she  stung 
not  like  a  bee  "^but  like  a  wasp,  since  the  bee 
dies  when  it  stings,  while  stinging  means  noth- 
ing to  the  wasp.     This  comparison  vexed  her. 

"Are  you  staying  here  long?"  she  asked 
Vladimir  Sergeitch,  dropping  her  eyes  and 
twisting  her  riding  whip  in  her  hands. 

"No,  I  propose  going  away  to-morrow." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"Home." 

"Home?     Why,  may  I  venture  to  ask?" 

"Why?  I  have  business  at  home  that  ad- 
mits of  no  delay." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  looked  at  him. 

"Are  you  such  a  .  .  .  business-like  person?" 

"I  try  to  be  business-like,"  replied  Vladimir 
Sergeitch.  "In  our  practical  age  every  decent 
person  ought  to  be  practical  and  business-like." 
251 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"That  is  perfectly  true,"  observed  Ipatov. 
"Isn't  it,  Ivan  Ilyitch?" 

Ivan  Ilyitch  simply  glanced  at  Ipatov,  v^hile 
Yegor  Kapitonitch  commented : 

"Yes,  that  is  so." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna, 
"a  jeune  prender  is  just  what  vi^e  are  short  of. 
You  can  act  comedy,  can't  you?" 

"I  have  never  tried  my  powers  in  that  line." 

"I  am  sure  you  would  act  well.  You  have 
such  a  .  .  .  dignified  deportment;  that's  essen- 
tial for  a  jeune  premier  of  to-day.  My 
brother  and  I  are  thinking  of  setting  up  a 
dramatic  society  here.  But  we  shall  not  con- 
fine ourselves  to  comedies;  we  shall  act  every- 
thing— dramas,  ballets  and  even  tragedies. 
Wouldn't  Masha  make  a  fine  Cleopatra  or 
Phaedra?    Look  at  her." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  turned  round.  .  .  .  Lean- 
ing with  her  head  against  the  door,  Marya  Pav- 
lovna  was  standing  with  her  arms  folded,  gaz- 
ing dreamily  into  the  distance.  .  .  .  Certainly 
at  that  moment  her  harmonious  features  were 
suggestive  of  antique  sculpture.  She  had  not 
252 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

heard  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna's  last  words  but, 
noticing  that  all  eyes  were  suddenly  turned 
upon  her,  she  immediately  guessed  what  was 
being  said,  flushed  crimson  and  was  on  the 
point  of  retreating  into  the  drawing-room.  .  .  . 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  quickly  seized  her  by 
the  hand  and  with  the  coquettish  tenderness  of 
a  kitten  drew  the  almost  masculine-looking 
hand  to  her  and  kissed  it.  Marya  Pavlovna 
flushed  a  deeper  colour. 

"You  are  always  full  of  mischief,  Nadya," 
she  said. 

"Didn't  I  tell  the  truth  about  you?  I  ap- 
peal to  you  all.  .  .  .  Well,  there,  there,  I'll 
stop.  But  I  tell  you  again,"  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna went  on,  addressing  Vladimir  Sergeitch, 
"it  is  a  pity  you  are  going  away.  It  is  true 
we  have  got  a  jcune  pre\nuer;  he  forces  him- 
self upon  us,  indeed,  but  he  is  a  very  poor 
one." 

"Who  is  that,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"Bodryakov,  the  poet.  How  can  a  poet  be 
a  jeune  premier!  In  the  first  place  he  dresses 
horribly;  in  the  second,  though  he  writes  epi- 
grams, in  the  presence  of  any  woman,  even 
253 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

of  me,  imagine,  he  is  overcome  with  shyness. 
He  lisps,  always  holds  one  arm  above  his  head 
and  I  don't  know  what  he  doesn't  do.  Tell  me, 
please.  Monsieur  Astahov,  are  all  poets  like 
that?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  drew  himself  up  a  little. 

"I  have  never  known  one  personally  and  I 
must  confess  I  have  never  sought  their  ac- 
quaintance." 

"Yes,  of  course,  you  are  a  practical  man. 
We  shall  have  to  take  Bodryakov;  there  is  no 
help  for  it.  The  other  jeunes  premiers  are 
even  worse.  He  would  learn  his  part,  any- 
way. In  addition  to  the  tragic  parts  Masha 
will  be  our  prima-donna.  .  .  .  Have  you  heard 
her  sing,  Monsieur  Astahov?" 

"No,"  replied  Vladimir  Sergeitch  with  a 
smirk,  "I  didn't  know  .  .  ." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  to-day, 
Nadya?"  said  Marya  Pavlovna  with  an  air  of 
vexation. 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  jumped  up. 

"Do  sing  us  something,  Masha,  please  do ! 
I'll  give  you  no  peace  till  you  do,  Masha 
darling.  I'd  sing  myself  to  entertain  your  vis- 
254 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

itor,  but  you  know  what  a  horrid  voice  I  have. 
But  see  how  nicely  I'll  accompany  you." 

Marya  Pavlovna  did  not  speak  for  a 
minute. 

"There's  no  putting  you  off,"  she  said  at 
last.  "You  are  used  to  having  your  own  way 
in  everything,  like  a  spoiled  child.  Very  well, 
I  will  sing." 

"Bravo,  bravo  !"  cried  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna, 
and  she  clapped  her  hands.  "Gentlemen,  let 
us  go  into  the  drawing-room.  As  for  having 
my  own  way,  I'll  score  that  against  you,"  she 
added,  laughing.  "How  can  you  expose  my 
weaknesses  before  strangers?  Yegor  Kapiton- 
itch,  is  that  how  Matryona  Markovna  puts  you 
to  shame  before  strangers?" 

"Matryona  Markovna,"  muttered  Yegor 
Kapitonitch,  "is  a  very  estimable  lady;  only  on 
the  point  of  manners." 

"Well,  come  along,  come  along,"  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  interrupted  him,  and  she  went  into 
the  drawing-room. 

Everyone  followed  her.  She  flung  down 
her  hat  and  sat  down  at  the  piano.  Marya 
255 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Pavlovna  stood  by  the  wall,  at  some  distance 
from  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna. 

"Masha,"  she  said  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"sing  us  'The  Peasant  Lad  the  Wheat  Is  Sow- 
ing.'" 

Marya  Pavlovna  began  singing.  Her  voice 
was  pure  and  strong  and  she  sang  well — sim- 
ply and  naturally.  Everyone  listened  to  her 
with  great  attention  and  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
could  not  conceal  his  astonishment.  When 
Marya  Pavlovna  had  finished  he  went  up  to  her 
and  began  declaring  that  he  had  had  no 
idea  .  .  . 

"Wait  a  bit,"  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  inter- 
rupted him,  "there's  better  to  come!  Masha, 
I  will  comfort  your  Little  Russian  heart;  sing 
us  now  'Merry  Uproar  in  the  Oakwood.' " 

"Are  you  a  Little  Russian  ?"  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  asked  her. 

"I  was  born  in  Little  Russia,"  she  answered, 
and  she  began  singing  the  "Merry  Uproar." 

At  first  she  articulated  the  words  indiffer- 
ently, but  the  mournfully,  passionate  tune  of 
her  native  land  by  degrees  roused  her,  her 
256 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  shone,  there  was  a 
warm  ring  in  her  voice.     She  finished. 

"Good  heavens,  how  well  you  sang  that!" 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  commented,  bending 
over  the  keys.  "What  a  pity  my  brother  is  not 
here !" 

Marya  Pavlovna  dropped  her  eyes  at  once 
and  her  characteristic  bitter  smile  came  on  to 
her  lips. 

"And  now  we  must  have  something  more," 
observed  Ipatov. 

"Yes,  if  you  would  be  so  good,"  added 
Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"Excuse  me,  I  won't  sing  any  more  to-night," 
said  Marya  Pavlovna,  and  she  walked  away 
from  the  piano. 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  looked  after  her, 
seemed  thoughtful  for  a  minute,  then  smiled, 
began  playing  with  one  finger  "The  Peasant  Lad 
the  Wheat  Is  Sowing,"  then  suddenly  broke 
into  a  brilliant  polka  and  without  finishing  it, 
struck  a  loud  chord,  shut  the  piano  and  got  up. 

"It  is  a  pity  there's  no  one  to  dance  with," 
she  exclaimed.  "That  would  have  been  just 
the  thing." 

257 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  up  to  her. 

"What  a  wonderful  voice  Marya  Pavlovna 
has,"  he  said,  "and  with  what  feeling  she  sings !" 

"Are  you  fond  of  music?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  very." 

"Such  a  learned  person  and  fond  of  music!" 

"Why  do  you  suppose  that  I  am  learned  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  was  forget- 
ting— ^you  are  a  practical  man.  Where  is 
Masha  gone?    Wait,  I'll  go  and  fetch  her." 

And  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  fluttered  out  of 
the  room. 

"Giddy  head,  as  you  see,"  said  Ipatov,  going 
up  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  "but  a  very  good 
heart.  And  what  an  education  she  has  had, 
you  cannot  fancy:  she  can  speak  in  every  lan- 
guage. Of  course  they  are  people  of  property, 
so  no  wonder." 

"Yes,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch  acquiesced  ab- 
sent-mindedly, "very  charming  young  lady. 
But  tell  me,  was  your  wife  also  from  Little 
Russia?" 

"Yes.  My  wife  was  a  Little  Russian  like 
her  sister  Marya  Pavlovna.  To  tell  the  truth, 
my  wife's  accent  was  not  perfect;  though  she 
258 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

knew  the  Russian  language  perfectly,  she  did 
not  pronounce  it  correctly;  her  vowel  sounds 
were  not  quite  pure ;  Marya  Pavlovna  now  left 
her  own  country  when  she  was  little.  Yet 
one  can  see  the  Little  Russian  blood,  can't 
one?" 

"Marya  Pavlovna  sings  wonderfully,"  ob- 
served Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"Yes,  she  does  sing  well.  But  why  is  it 
they  don't  bring  in  the  tea  ?  And  what  has  be- 
come of  the  young  ladies?     It  is  tea-time." 

The  young  ladies  did  not  return  for  some 
time.  Meanwhile  the  samovar  was  brought  in 
and  the  table  was  set  for  tea — Ipatov  sent  for 
them.  They  came  back  together.  Marya  Pav- 
lovna sat  down  at  the  table  to  pour  out  tea, 
while  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  went  to  the  door 
of  the  verandah  and  looked  out  into  the  gar- 
den. The  bright  summer  day  was  followed  by 
a  soft,  clear  evening;  there  was  the  glow  of 
sunset;  the  broad  pond,  half  flooded  with  its 
crimson  light,  stood  a  motionless  mirror,  with 
stately  serenity  reflecting  in  the  silvery  darkness 
of  its  deep  bosom  all  the  fathomless  ethereal 
sky  and  the  black  shapes  of  the  trees  upside 
259 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

down  and  the  house.  Everything  had  sunk  into 
silence;  there  was  not  a  sound  anywhere. 

"Look  how  beautiful,"  said  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch  as  he  came 
up  to  her.  "Out  there  in  the  pond  a  star  has 
just  come  out,  beside  the  lights  of  the  house; 
they  are  red  but  it  is  golden.  Here  is  Grand- 
mamma coming,"  she  added. 

A  bath-chair  came  into  view  from  behind  the 
lilac  bushes.  Two  men  were  drawing  it.  The 
bent  figure  of  an  old  lady  with  her  head  bowed 
on  her  breast  was  sitting  muffled  up  in  it.  The 
fringe  of  her  white  cap  almost  completely  cov- 
ered her  withered  and  shrunken  face.  The 
bath-chair  stopped  before  the  verandah.  Ipa- 
tov  went  out  of  the  drawing-room;  his  little 
daughters  ran  out  after  him.  They  had  been 
scurrying  from  room  to  room  like  mice  all  the 
evening. 

"I  wish  you  good-evening,  mother,"  said 
Ipatov,  going  up  to  the  old  lady  and  raising  his 
voice.     "How  do  you  feel?" 

"I  have  come  to  have  a  look  at  you,"  the 
old  lady  enunciated  with  an  effort,  in  a  tone- 
less voice.  "What  a  lovely  evening!  I  have 
260 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

been  asleep  all  day  and  now  my  legs  are  ach- 
ing. Ah,  my  legs !  They  are  no  use  and  they 
ache." 

"Allow  me  to  present  to  you,  mother,  our 
neighbour,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  Astahov." 

"Delighted,"  said  the  old  lady,  turning  upon 
him  her  big,  black,  lustreless  eyes.  "I  hope 
you  will  be  friends  with  my  son.  He  is  a  good 
man ;  I  gave  him  all  the  education  I  could ;  of 
course  I  am  only  a  woman.  He  is  a  bit  weak 
yet,  but  with  time  he  will  grow  steadier, — it's 
high  time  he  did;  it's  time  for  me  to  hand 
things  over  to  him.  Is  that  you,  Nadya?"  she 
added,  looking  at  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna. 

"Yes,  Grandmamma." 

"And  is  Masha  pouring  out  tea?" 

"Yes,  Grandmamma." 

"And  who  else  is  there?" 

"Ivan  Ilyitch  and  Yegor  Kapitonitch." 

"Matryona  Markovna's  husband?" 

"Yes,  Grandmamma." 

The  old  lady  chewed  her  lips. 

"Well  .  .  .  Misha,  I  can't  get  at  the  village 
elder;  tell  him  to  come  to  me  early  to-morrow, 
■ — I  have  a  great  deal  of  business  to  do  with 
261 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

him.  Everything  goes  wrong  without  me,  I 
see.  Well,  that's  enough,  I  am  tired,  take  me 
home.  .  .  .  Good-bye,  sir,  I  can't  remember 
your  name,"  she  added,  addressing  Vladimir 
Sergeitch;  "you  must  forgive  an  old  woman. 
And  don't  come  with  me,  grandchildren,  there's 
no  need.  All  you  think  of  is  to  be  running 
about.  Sit  still,  sit  still  and  learn  your  les- 
sons; do  you  hear?  Masha  spoils  you.  Come, 
set  off." 

The  old  lady's  head,  raised  with  difficulty, 
sank  back  upon  her  breast. 

The  bath-chair  started  and  moved  slowly 
away. 

"How  old  is  your  mother?"  asked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"She  is  only  seventy-two  but  she  lost  the 
use  of  her  legs  twenty-six  years  ago;  it  hap- 
pened to  her  soon  after  my  father's  death. 
But  she  was  a  beauty." 

Everyone  was  silent. 

All  at  once  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  started. 

"What's  that  ?  I  believe  it  was  a  bat !  Oh, 
how  horrid  I"  And  she  went  hurriedly  back 
into  the  drawing-room. 

262 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"It  is  time  for  me  to  go  home.  Mihail 
Nikolaitch,  tell  them  to  saddle  my  hors6.** 

"It's  time  for  me  to  go,  too,"  said  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"Why  should  you  go?"  said  Ipatov.  "Stay 
the  night  here.  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  has  only 
a  mile  and  a  half  to  go  but  you  have  nine. 
And  why  are  you  in  a  hurry,  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna ?  Wait  for  the  moon ;  it  will  soon  be 
up.     It  will  be  lighter  riding  then." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna; 
"it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  been  for  a  ride 
by  moonlight." 

"And  will  you  stay  the  night?"  said  Ipatov, 
addressing  himself  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"I  really  don't  know.  .  .  .  But  if  I  am  not 
in  the  way  ,  .  ." 

"Not  in  the  least,  I  assure  you;  I  will  bid 
them  prepare  a  room  for  you  at  once." 

"It  is  nice  riding  by  moonlight,"  began 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  as  soon  as  they  had 
brought  the  candles  and  handed  the  tea  and 
Ipatov  and  Yegor  Kapitonitch  had  sat  down 
to  a  game  of  two-handed  preference  and  the 
Adjustable  Soul  had  installed  himself  beside 
263 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

them  without  tittering  a  word,  "especially 
through  woods,  between  the  nut  bushes.  It's 
uncanny  and  delightful  and  there  is  a  strange 
play  of  light  and  shadow — one  feels  as  though 
someone  were  lurking  behind  or  in  front  .  .  ." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  gave  a  condescending 
smile. 

"And  has  it  happened  to  you,"  she  went  on, 
"to  sit  on  a  warm,  dark,  still  night  near  a  wood  ? 
It  always  seems  to  me  then  as  though  two 
voices  were  arguing  hotly  in  a  faint  whisper 
behind  me  close  to  my  ear." 

"That's  the  throbbing  of  the  blood,"  ob- 
served Ipatov. 

"Your  description  is  very  poetical,"  ob- 
served Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  looked  at  him. 

"You  think  so?  ...  In  that  case,  my  de- 
scriptions would  not  please  Masha." 

"Why  so?  Doesn't  Marya  Pavlovna  like 
poetry  ?" 

"No ;  she  thinks  it  is  all  made  up,  all  false ; 
that  is  just  what  she  doesn't  like." 

"What  a  strange  fault  to  find !"  exclaimed 
264 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Vladimir  Sergeitch.  "Made  up!  What  else 
could  it  be?  That's  just  what  creative  artists 
are  for !" 

"Well,  there  it  is;  but  you  oughtn't  to  like 
poetry,  either." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  fond  of  good 
poetry,  when  it  is  really  good  and  musical  and 
— what  shall  I  say? — when  it  presents  ideas, 
thoughts  .  .  ." 

Marya  Pavlovna  got  up. 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  turned  quickly  to  her. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Masha?" 

"To  put  the  children  to  bed.  It  is  nearly 
nine  o'clock." 

"But  can't  they  go  to  bed  without  you?" 

But  Marya  Pavlovna  took  the  children  by 
their  hands  and  went  out  with  them. 

"She  is  in  a  bad  mood  to-day,"  observed 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  "and  I  know  why,"  she 
added  in  an  undertone,  "but  it  will  pass." 

"Allow  me  to  ask  you,"  began  Vladimir 
Sergeitch,  "where,  do  you  intend  to  spend  the 
winter?" 

"Possibly  here,  possibly  in  Petersburg.    I  feel 
as  though  I  should  be  bored  in  Petersburg." 
26s 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Bored  in  Petersburg?  You  surprise  me! 
How  is  that  possible?" 

And  Vladimir  Sergeitch  fell  to  describing 
all  the  conveniences,  charms  and  advantages  of 
life  in  the  capital.  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  lis- 
tened attentively  without  taking  her  eyes  off 
him.  She  seemed  to  be  studying  his  features 
and  from  time  to  time  smiled  to  herself. 

"I  see  you  are  very  eloquent,"  she  said  at 
last;  "I  shall  have  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Petersburg." 

"You  will  not  regret  it,"  declared  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"I  never  regret  anything;  it  is  not  worth 
the  trouble.  If  you  do  anything  silly,  try  and 
forget  it  as  soon  as  possible,  that's  all." 
I  "Allow  me  to  ask,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
asked  in  French  after  a  brief  silence,  "have 
you  known   Marya   Pavlovna  long?" 

"Allow  me  to  ask,"  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna 
retorted  with  swift  mockery,  "why  did  you 
ask  just  that  question  in  French?" 

"Oh  .  .  .  for  no  particular  reason." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna   smiled  again. 
266 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"No,  I  have  not  known  her  very  long.  She 
is  a  remarkable  girl,  isn't  she?" 

"She  is  very  original,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
assented   through  his   teeth. 

"Well,  from  you,  from  a  practical  person, 
is  that  praise?  I  don't  think  so — perhaps  I 
strike  you  as  original,  too?  But  the  moon 
must  have  risen,"  she  added,  getting  up  from 
her  seat  and  glancing  at  the  open  window, 
"that's  moonlight  on  the  tops  of  the  poplars. 
It's  time  to  go,  .  .  .  I'll  go  and  tell  them  to 
saddle  Beauty." 

"He  is  saddled,"  said  her  page,  stepping  out 
of  the  shade  of  the  park  into  the  streak  of 
light  that  fell  on  the  verandah. 

"Oh,  that's  right!  Masha,  where  are  you? 
Come  and  say  good-bye." 

Marya  Pavlovna  came  in  from  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  The  men  got  up  from  the  card- 
table. 

"Are  you  going  already?"  asked  Ipatov. 

"Yes,  It's  time." 

She  went  towards  the  verandah  door. 

"What  a  night !"  she  exclaimed.  "Come 
nearer,  put  your  face  out;  do  you  feel  it?  It 
267 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

seems  to  be  breathing.  And  what  a  scent ! 
AH  the  flowers  are  awake  now.  They  wake 
up  while  we  are  thinking  of  going  to  sleep. 
And  by  the  way,  Masha,"  she  added,  "I  have 
been  telling  Vladimir  Sergeitch  that  you  don't 
like  poetry.  And  now  good-bye.  .  .  .  Here 
they  are  bringing  my  horse." 

And  she  ran  rapidly  down  the  verandah 
steps,  leapt  lightly  into  the  saddle,  said,  "Good- 
bye till  to-morrow,"  and  switching  the  horse  on 
the  neck,  galloped  to  the  dam  .  .  .  the  page 
trotted  behind  her. 

Everyone  looked  after  her. 

"Till  to-morrow,"  they  heard  her  voice  be- 
yond the  poplars.  The  thud  of  hoofs  was  au- 
dible for  a  long  time  in  the  stillness  of  the  sum- 
mer night.  At  last  Ipatov  suggested  they 
should  go  back  into  the  house. 

"It  certainly  is  nice  in  the  open  air,"  he  said, 
"but  we  must  finish  our  game." 

All  the  company  returned  to  the  house. 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  asking  Marya  Pav- 
lovna  why  she  did  not  like  poetry. 

"I  don't  care  for  it,"  she  answered  with  seem- 
ing reluctance. 

268 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"But  perhaps  you  have  not  read  much 
poetry  ?" 

"I  have  not  read  it  myself  but  it  has  been 
read  to  me." 

"And  wasn't  there  a  single  poem  you  liked  ?" 

"No,  not  one." 

"Even  Pushkin?" 

"Even  Pushkin." 

"Why?" 

Marya  Pavlovna  made  no  answer  and  Ipatov, 
turning  round,  said  over  the  back  of  his  chair, 
with  a  good-natured  laugh,  that  she  did  not 
only  dislike  poetry  but  even  sugar,  and  in  fact 
could  not  bear  sweet  things  at  all. 

"But  there  are  poems  that  are  not  sweet," 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  retorted.  ■" 

"For  instance?"  asked  Marya  Pavlovna. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  scratched  his  head.  .  .  . 
He  knew  very  little  poetry  by  heart  himself, 
particularly  of  the  kind  that  was  not  sweet. 

"Well,"  he  cried  at  last,  "do  you  know  Push- 
kin's 'The  Upas  Tree'  ?  No  ?  That  poem  can- 
not possibly  be  called  sweet." 

"Repeat  it,"  Marya  Pavlovna  asked  him,  and 
she  dropped  her  eyes. 

269 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  looked  at  the  ceiling, 
frowned,  muttered  to  himself  and  at  last  re- 
peated "The  Upas  Tree." 

After  the  first  four  verses,  Marya  Pavlovna 
slowly  raised  her  eyes,  and  when  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  finished,  she  said  as  slowly: 

"Please  repeat  it  over  again." 

"You  like  the  poem,  then?"  asked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"Repeat  it  again." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  recited  "The  Upas  Tree" 
again.  Marya  Pavlovna  got  up,  went  into  an- 
other room  and  came  back  with  a  sheet  of 
paper,  an  inkstand  and  a  pen. 

"Please  write  it  out  for  me,"  she  asked 
Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure,"  he  answered,  be- 
ginning to  write.  "But  I  confess  I  wonder 
why  you  like  this  poem  so  much.  I  repeated 
it  just  to  show  you  that  not  all  poetry  is  sweet." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  exclaimed  Ipatov;  "what 
do  you  think  of  those  verses,  Ivan  Ilyitch?" 

Ivan  Ilyitch,  as  usual,  simply  glanced  at  Ipa- 
tov but  did  not  utter  a  word. 

"Here,  it  is  finished,"  said  Vladimir  Serge- 
270 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

itch,  putting  a  note  of  exclamation  at  the  end 
of  the  last  line. 

Marya  Pavlovna  thanked  him  and  carried 
off  the  copy  of  the  poem  to  her  own  room. 

Half  an  hour  later  supper  was  served,  and 
within  an  hour  all  the  guests  separated  to  their 
rooms.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  more  than  once  ad- 
dressed Marya  Pavlovna,  but  it  was  difficult  to 
keep  up  a  conversation  with  her,  and  the  things 
he  said  did  not  seem  to  interest  her  much. 
He  would  probably  have  gone  off  to  sleep  at 
once  on  getting  into  bed  if  he  had  not  been 
kept  awake  by  his  neighbour,  Yegor  Kapiton- 
itch.  The  husband  of  Matryona  Markovna, 
after  undressing  and  getting  into  bed,  carried 
on  a  long  conversation  with  his  servant — whom 
he  kept  admonishing.  Every  word  he  uttered 
reached  Vladimir  Sergeitch  distinctly;  the 
rooms  were  only  divided  by  a  thin  partition 
wall. 

"Hold  the  candle  straight  in  front  of  you," 
said  Yegor  Kapitonitch  in  a  complaining  voice, 
"hold  it  so  that  I  can  see  your  face.  You  have 
turned  my  hair  grey,  you  unprincipled  fellow, 
you've  turned  my  hair  grey." 
271 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"But  how  have  I  turned  your  hair  grey, 
Yegor  Kapitonitch  ?"  the  indistinct  and  sleepy 
voice  of  the  servant  was  heard. 

"How  ?  I'll  tell  you  how.  How  many  times 
have  I  said  to  you,,  'Mitka,'  I  have  said  to  you, 
'whenever  you  go  away  with  me  anywhere  on 
a  visit,  always  pack  two  changes  of  clothes, 
particularly  .  .  .  hold  the  candle  straight  in 
front  of  you  .  .  .  particularly  of  under- 
clothes?' And  what  have  you  done  to  me 
to-day?" 

"Why,  what,  sir?" 

"You  ask  what?  What  am  I  to  put  on  to- 
morrow morning?" 

"Why,  the  same  as  you  had  on  to-day." 

"You've  turned  my  hair  grey,  you  ruffian. 
I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself,  I  was 
so  hot  to-day.  Hold  the  candle  straight  in 
front  of  you,  I  tell  you,  and  don't  go  to  sleep 
when  your  master  is  talking  to  you." 

"And  Matryona  Markovna  told  me  it  was 
enough.  'Why  always  take  such  a  lot  of  things 
with  you?'  she  said.  'They  only  get  worn  out 
for  nothing.' " 

"Matryona  Markovna.  ...  As  though  it 
272 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

were  a  woman's  business  to  go  into  that! 
You've  turned  my  hair  grey,  you  have!" 

"And  Yahim  said  so,  too." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  say,  Yahim  said  so,  too." 

"Yahim!  Yahim!"  Yegor  Kapitonitch  re- 
peated reproachfully.  "You'll  be  the  death  of 
me,  you  heathens.  They  can't  speak  .Alussian 
properly.  Yahim!  Why,  doe's  "^ahim  mean? 
Yefim-T-we-ll,  at  a  pinch  one  can  say  that, — for 
the--r€al  Greek  name  is  "^evfimy,' do  you  under- 
stand me?  .  .  .  Hold  the~candle  straight  be- 
fore you.  .  .  .  But  for  shortness  one  may  say 
Yefim,  but  certainly  not  Yahim.  Yahim!"  re- 
peated Yegor  Kapitonitch  with  an  emphasis  on 
the  ya.  "You've  turned  my  hair  grey,  you  vil- 
lains.   Hold  the  candle  straight  before  you !" 

And  Yegor  Kapitonitch  went  on  for  a  long 
time  lecturing  his  servant,  in  spite  of  Vladimir 
Sergeitch's  sighs,  coughs  and  other  signs  of 
impatience. 

At  last  he  dismissed  his  Mitka  and  went  to 
sleep,  but  this  did  not  improve  matters  for  Vlad- 
imir Sergeitch :  Yegor  Kapitonitch  had  such 
a  deep  and  powerful  snore,  with  such  playful 
273 


f/p^^^^^^ 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

transitions  from  the  highest  treble  to  the  deep- 
est bass,  with  such  whistling  and  even  clicking 
sounds,  that  the  very  partition  wall  seemed  to 
be  quivering  in  response  to  it.  Poor  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  felt  ready  to  cry.  It  was  very  stuffy 
in  his  room  and  the  feather  bed  on  which  he  lay 
seemed  to  wrap  his  whole  person  in  a  sort  of 
creeping  heat. 

In  despair  Vladimir  Sergeitch  got  up  at  last, 
opened  his  window  and  greedily  drank  in  the 
fragrant  freshness  of  the  night.  The  window 
looked  into  the  park;  the  sky  was  light;  the 
round  face  of  the  full  moon  was  at  one  moment 
reflected  clearly  in  the  pond,  at  the  next  was 
drawn  out  into  a  long  golden  sheaf  of  slowly 
shifting  sparkles.  In  one  of  the  garden  paths 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  saw  a  figure  dressed  like  a 
woman :  it  was  Marya  Pavlovna ;  in  the  moon- 
light her  face  looked  pale.  She  stood  motion- 
less and  suddenly  began  speaking.  .  .  .  Vlad- 
imir Sergeitch  cautiously  put  out  his  head. 


"Yet  thither  with   imperious   glance 
A  man  his  fellow-man  has  sent" 


reached  his  hearing. 

274 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Imagine  that!"  he  thought;  "so  the  verses 
have  had  an  effect  on  her.   ..." 

And  he  listened  with  redoubled  attention. 
But  Marya  Pavlovna  soon  ceased  speaking  and 
turned  more  directly  facing  him:  he  could  dis- 
tinguish her  large  dark  eyes,  her  severe  brow 
and  lips. 

Suddenly  she  started,  turned  round,  passed 
into  the  shadow  cast  by  a  dense  wall  of  tall 
acacias  and  disappeared.  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
remained  standing  a  considerable  time  at  the 
window,  then  at  last  he  got  into  bed  but  did 
not  soon  fall  asleep. 

"A  strange  creature"  he  thought  as  he  turned 
from  side  to  side — "and  they  say  there  is  noth- 
ing special  to  be  found  in  the  country.  .  .  . 
Yes,  indeed  !  A  strange  creature !  I'll  ask  her 
to-morrow  what  she  was  doing  in  the  garden." 

Yegor  Kapitonitch  was  still  snoring  as  be- 
fore. 


275 


CHAPTER  III 

Next  morning  Vladimir  Sergeitch  woke  rather 
late  and  immediately  after  breakfast  in  the 
dining-room  went  home  to  make  final  arrange- 
ments on  his  estate,  in  spite  of  old  Ipatov's 
efforts  to  keep  him.  Marya  Pavlovna  was 
present  at  breakfast;  Vladimir  Sergeitch  did 
not  think  it  necessary,  however,  to  question  her 
about  her  walk  in  the  garden  in  the  night:  he 
belonged  to  that  class  of  people  to  whom  it  is 
difficult  to  give  themselves  up  for  two  days 
together  to  unaccustomed  thoughts  and  con- 
jectures. He  would  have  had  to  talk  about  the 
poem  and  the  "poetical"  mood  as  it  is  called 
soon  wearied  him.  He  spent  the  whole  day  in 
the  fields  till  dinner,  for  which  he  had  a  keen 
appetite,  had  a  nap,  and  on  waking  up  was 
about  to  look  through  the  rural  clerk's  account, 
but  before  he  had  finished  the  first  page  or- 
dered his  carriage  and  set  off  to  Ipatovka.  Evi- 
276 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

dently  even  practical  people  have  not  hearts  of 
stone  and  are  no  fonder  of  being  dull  than  ordi- 
nary mortals. 

As  he  drove  on  to  the  dam  he  heard  voices 
and  the  sound  of  music.  At  Ipatov's  house 
they  were  singing  Russian  songs  in  chorus.  He 
found  on  the  verandah  the  whole  company  he 
had  left  in  the  morning;  they  all,  among  them 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  were  sitting  in  a  semi- 
circle round  a  man  of  about  thirty-two,  with 
a  dark  complexion,  black  hair  and  black  eyes, 
wearing  a  short  velvet  coat  and  a  red  cravat 
tied  loosely  round  his  neck,  and  holding  a  guitar 
in  his  hands.  This  wan  Pyotr  Alexeitch  Veret- 
yev,  the  brother  of  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna.  On 
seeing  Vladimir  Sergeitch  old  Ipatov  went  to 
meet  him  with  an  exclamation  of  delight,  led 
him  up  to  Veretyev  and  introduced  them. 
After  exchanging  the  usual  greetings  with  his 
new  acquaintance,  Astahov  bowed  respect- 
fully to  the  latter's  sister. 

"We  are  singing  songs  in  the  village  style," 
began    Ipatov,    and,    indicating    Veretyev,    he 
added,  "Pyotr  Alexeitch  is  our  conductor — and 
such  a  conductor!  you  will  hear." 
277 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"It  is  very  delightful,"  answered  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"Won't  you  join  the  chorus?"  asked  Nad- 
yezhda  Alexyevna. 

"I  should  be  delighted  but  I  have  no  voice." 

"That  does  not  matter!  Look,  Yegor  Kapi- 
tonitch  is  singing  and  I  am  singing.  You  need 
only  join  in.     Sit  down;  begin,  brother." 

"What  song  shall  we  sing  now  ?"  said  Veret- 
yev,  strumming  on  the  guitar  and,  stopping 
suddenly,  he  looked  at  Marya  Pavlovna,  who 
was  sitting  beside  him. 

"I  think  it  is  your  turn  now,"  he  said  to  her. 

"No,  you  sing,"  answered  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"There  is  a  song  'Down  Mother  Volga,' " 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  observed  with  dignity. 

"No,  we  are  saving  that  for  the  end,"  an- 
swered Veretyev,  and,  striking  the  strings,  he 
began  singing,  dwelling  on  each  note  "The  Sun 
Is  Setting." 

He  sang  capitally,  with  spirit  and  gaiety.  His 
manly  face,  which  was  expressive  at  all  times, 
became  even  livelier  when  he  was  singing;  now 
and  then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  suddenly 
pressed  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  on  the 
278 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

strings,  raised  his  hand,  shook  his  curls  and 
looked  round  him  with  a  keen,  proud  air.  In 
Moscow  he  had  more  than  once  seen  the  famous 
gipsy  Ilya  and  was  imitating  him.  The  chorus 
seconded  him  vigorously.  Marya  Pavlovna's 
mellow  voice  stood  out  above  all  the  others;  it 
seemed  to  lead  the  others ;  but  she  would  ilot 
sing  alone  and  Veretyev  remained  the  con- 
ductor to  the  end. 

They  sang  many  other  songs. 

Meanwhile  a  storm  was  coming  on  with  the 
approach  of  evening.  It  had  been  stiflingly  hot 
since  mid-day  and  there  had  been  rumblings  in 
the  distance;  but  now  a  broad  storm-cloud, 
which  had  long  lain  like  a  leaden  shroud  on  the 
very  rim  of  the  horizon,  began  to  grow  and 
appear  above  the  tree-tops ;  the  sultry  air  began 
quivering  more  perceptibly,  more  and  more  vio- 
lently troubled  by  the  approaching  storm;  a 
wind  sprang  up,  rustled  abruptly  among  the 
leaves,  sank  into  silence,  again  set  up  a  pro- 
longed rustling  and  howled  among  the  trees; 
a  gloomy  darkness  moved  rapidly  over  the  land, 
driving  before  it  the  last  glow  of  sunset;  dense 
clouds,  as  though  suddenly  released,  floated 
2/9 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

upwards  and  flew  across  the  sky;  there  came  a 
spatter  of  rain,  a  red  flash  of  lightning  and  a 
heavy,  angry  roll  of  thunder. 

"Let  us  go  in,"  said  old  Ipatov,  "or  we  may 
get  wet." 

Everyone  got  up. 

"In  a  minute,"  cried  Veretyev.  "Let  us  have 
the  last  song.    Listen: 

"  'Oh,  my  porch,  oh,  my  new  porch.' " 

He  sang  in  a  loud  voice,  rapidly  striking  the 
chords  with  the  whole  of  his  hand.  "My  porch 
of  maple."  The  chorus  took  it  up  as  though 
carried  away  by  the  tune.  Almost  at  the  same 
instant  the  rain  came  lashing  down  in  streams; 
but  Veretyev  sang  "My  porch"  to  the  end. 
Drowned  from  time  to  time  by  peals  of  thunder, 
the  gay  reckless  song  sounded  even  gayer  and 
more  reckless  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
noisy  patter  and  gurgling  of  the  rain.  Finally 
the  last  outburst  of  the  chorus  rang  out  and 
the  whole  company  ran,  laughing,  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. The  little  girls,  Ipatov's  daughters, 
laughed  more  loudly  than  anyone  as  they  shook 
the  raindrops  off  their  dresses.  Ipatov,  how- 
280 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

ever,  by  way  of  precaution,  closed  the  window 
and  the  door,  and  Yegor  Kapitonitch  com- 
mended his  prudence,  observing  that  Matryona 
Markovna  too  insisted  on  all  windows  and  doors 
being  shut  during  a  storm,  since  electricity  acts 
more  freely  in  an  empty  space.  Bodryakov 
looked  into  his  face,  moved  away  and  upset  a 
chair.  Such  little  mishaps  were  very  frequent 
with  him. 

The  storm  was  very  quickly  over.  The  doors 
and  windows  were  opened  again  and  the  rooms 
were  filled  with  moist  fragrance.  Tea  was 
brought  in.  After  tea  the  old  gentlemen  sat 
down  to  cards  again — Ivan  Ilyitch,  as  usual, 
seated  himself  beside  them.  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
went  up  to  Marya  Pavlovna,  who  was  sitting  in 
the  window  with  Veretyev;  but  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  summoned  him  and  immediately  en- 
tered into  a  lively  conversation  with  him  about 
Petersburg  and  Petersburg  life.  She  attacked 
it;  Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  defending  it. 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  seemed  anxious  to  keep 
him  at  her  side. 

"What  are  you  arguing  about?"  said  Veret- 
yev, getting  up  and  coming  towards  them. 
281 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

He  walked  with  a  lazy  swing ;  in  all  his  move- 
ments there  was  something  between  noncha- 
lance and  indolence. 

"About  Petersburg,"  answered  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna.  "Vladimir  Sergeitch  cannot  say 
enough  in  its  praise." 

"It's  a  nice  town,"  observed  Veretyev — "but 
I  think  it's  nice  everywhere.  Yes,  really. 
Where  there  are  two  or  three  women  and,  ex- 
cuse my  frankness,  wine,  man  really  has  noth- 
ing left  to  desire." 

"That  surprises  me,"  answered  Vladimir 
Sergeitch;  "can  you  really  be  of  the  opinion 
that  for  an  educated  man  there  exists 
nothing?  .  .  ." 

"Perhaps  .  .  .  just  so  ...  I  agree  with 
you,"  interrupted  Veretyev,  who  with  all  his 
politeness  had  the  habit  of  not  letting  other 
people  finish  their  sentences.  "But  that's  not 
in  my  line;  I  am  not  a  philosopher." 

"I  am  not  a  philosopher  either,"  said  Vladi 
mir  Sergeitch,  "and  have  no  desire  to  be  one, 
but  we   are   talking   of   something  quite   dif- 
ferent." 

Veretyev  looked  at  his   sister  with  a  non- 
282 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

chalant  air,  and  with  a  faint  smile  she  bent 
down  to  him  and  half-whispered : 

"Petrusha,  darling,  act  Yegor  Kapitonitch 
for  us,  do  \"  Veretyev's  face  instantly  changed 
and  God  knows  by  what  miracle  in  a  flash  be- 
came extraordinarily  like  that  of  Yegor  Kapi- 
tonitch, though  there  was  nothing  in  common 
in  the  features  of  the  one  and  the  other,  and 
all  that  Veretyev  did  was  to  wrinkle  up  his 
nose  and  drop  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"Of  course,"  he  began,  whispering  in  a  voice 
exactly  like  Yegor  Kapitonitch's — "Matryona 
Markovna  is  a  lady  very  strict  on  the  point  of 
manners,  but  she  is  an  exemplary  wife.  It  is 
true  that  whatever  I  say  .  .  ." 

"The  Biryulovsky  young  ladies  know  all 
about  it,"  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  put  in,  hardly 
able  to  restrain  her  laughter. 

"They  know  all  about  it  next  day,"  answered 
Veretyev  with  such  a  killing  grimace,  such  an 
embarrassed  side  glance  that  even  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  laughed. 

"You  have  a  great  talent  for  mimicry,  I  see," 
he  observed. 

Veretyev  passed  his  hand  over  his  face;  his 
283 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

features  resumed  their  ordinary  expression,  and 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  cried: 

"Oh,  yes,  he  can  mimic  anyone  he  likes.  .  .  . 
He  has  a  genius  for  it." 

"And  could  you  mimic  me?"  asked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"To  be  sure  he  can !"  said  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna.   "I  should  think  so !" 

"Oh,  please  do  mimic  me,"  said  Astahov,  ad- 
dressing Veretyev — "I  beg  you  not  to  stand  on 
ceremony." 

"Did  you  really  believe  her?"  answered  Veret- 
yev, slightly  screwing  up  one  eye  and  giving 
his  voice  Astahov's  intonation  but  so  slightly 
and  discreetly  that  only  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna 
noticed  it  and  bit  her  lip.  "You  mustn't  believe 
her,  please;  she  may  tell  you  all  sorts  of  stories 
about  me." 

"And  if  only  you  knew  what  an  actor  he  is  1" 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  went  on — "he  can  act 
any  character.  It's  so  wonderful.  He  is  our 
stage  manager  and  prompter  and  everything. 
It  is  a  pity  you  are  going  away  so  soon." 

"Sister,  your  partiality  blinds  you,"  Veretyev 
observed  in  a  dignified  voice  but  still  with  the 
284 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

same  intonation.  "What  will  Mr.  Astahov 
think  of  you?  He  will  think  you  are  a  pro- 
vincial young  lady." 

"Oh,  I  assure  you  ..."  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  was  beginning. 

"Petrusha,  I  tell  you  what,"  put  in  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna — "you  show  us  how  a  drunken  man 
cannot  get  a  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket  or 
better  act  a  boy  trying  to  catch  a  fly  on  the  win- 
dow while  it  buzzes  under  his  fingers." 

"You  are  a  regular  child,"  answered  Veretyev. 
He  got  up,  however,  and  going  to  the  window 
by  which  Marya  Pavlovna  was  sitting  began 
passing  his  hand  over  the  pane  and  acting  a 
boy  catching  a  fly.  The  accuracy  with  which 
he  imitated  the  pitiful  buzz  of  the  insect  was 
really  amazing.  It  seemed  as  though  a  real  fly 
were  under  his  fingers.  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna 
laughed  and  gradually  everyone  in  the  room 
began  laughing.  Marya  Pavlovna's  face  did 
not  change,  however;  there  was  not  even  a 
quiver  on  her  lips.  She  sat  with  downcast  eyes ; 
at  last  she  raised  them  and  looking  with  a  grave 
face  at  Veretyev  she  brought  out  through  her 
teeth  : 

285 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"It's  a  strange  taste  to  want  to  make  a  fool  of 
yourself." 

Veretyev  turned  away  from  the  window  at 
once  and  after  standing  for  a  little  while  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  went  out  on  to  the 
verandah  and  from  it  into  the  park  which  was 
by  now  wrapped  in  darkness. 

"He  is  an  amusing  fellow,  that  Pyotr  i.\lexe- 
itch!"  observed  Yegor  Kapitonitch,  flinging 
down  a  seven  of  trumps  on  his  opponent's  ace. 
"He  really  is  an  amusing  fellow !" 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  got  up  and,  going  hur- 
riedly to  Marya  Pavlovna,  asked  her  in  an 
undertone : 

"What  did  you  say  to  my  brother?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'nothing'?  It  can't 
have  been  nothing." 

And  after  a  brief  pause  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna brought  out  "come  along,"  took  Marya 
Pavlovna  by  the  hand,  made  her  get  up  and 
go  with  her  into  the  garden. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  looked  after  the  two 
young  ladies  with  some  surprise.  But  their 
absence  did  not  last  long ;  they  came  back  within 
286 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  Pyotr  Alexeitch  came 
in  with  them, 

"Such  a  lovely  night !"  cried  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna  as  she  walked  in.  "How  nice  it  is  in 
the  garden !" 

"Oh,  yes,  by  the  way,"  said  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch — '"was  it  you  I  saw  in  the  garden  last 
night,  Marya  Pavlovna?" 

Marya  Pavlovna  glanced  rapidly  into  his 
eyes. 

"You  were  reciting  Pushkin's  'Upas  Tree,'  if 
I  am  not  mistaken." 

Veretyev  gave  a  slight  frown  and  also  began 
looking  at  Astahov. 

"Yes,  it  was  me,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna,  "but 
I  was  not  reciting  anything;  I  never  recite." 

"Perhaps  it  was  my  fancy,"  began  Vladimir 
Sergeitch,  "though  .  .  ." 

"It  was  your  fancy,"  Marya  Pavlovna  added 
coldly. 

"What  is  this  'Upas  Tree?'"  asked  Na- 
dyezhda Alexyevna. 

"Don't     you     know?"     answered     Astahov. 
"Pushkin's  poem  'on  poor  and  meagre  soil'; 
don't  you  remember  it?" 
287 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"I  don't  seem  to  .  .  .  It's  about  a  poisonous 
tree,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Like  the  datura.  ,  .  .  Do  you  remember, 
Masha,  how  beautiful  the  datura  plants  were 
on  our  balcony  in  the  moonlight  with  their  long 
white  flowers?  Do  you  remember  the  sweet, 
insidious,  treacherous  scent  they  had?" 

"Treacherous  scent!"  cried  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch. 

"Yes,  treacherous.  Why  does  that  surprise 
you?  They  say  it  is  dangerous,  but  yet  it  at- 
tracts one.  How  is  it  evil  things  can  attract 
one  ?    What  is  evil  ought  not  to  be  lovely." 

"Oho!  What  profound  reflections!"  ob- 
served Pyotr  Alexeitch.  "We  have  got  a  long 
way  from  the  poem!" 

"I  repeated  that  poem  to  Marya  Pavlovna 
yesterday,"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  "and  she 
liked  it  extremely." 

"Oh,  do  repeat  it,  please,"  said  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna. 

"Certainly." 

And  Astahov  repeated  "The  Upas  Tree." 

"Too  stilted,"  Veretyev  brought  out  as  it 
288 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

were  reluctantly  as  soon  as  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
had  finished. 

"The  poem  is  too  stilted?" 

"No,  not  the  poem  ...  I  beg  your  pardon, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  you  did  not  repeat  it 
simply  enough.  The  thing  speaks  for  itself; 
however,  I  may  be  mistaken." 

"No,  you  are  not  mistaken,"  said  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  emphatically. 

"Oh,  no,  we  all  know  that !  In  your  eyes  I  am 
a  genius,  a  gifted  person,  who  knows  every- 
thing and  can  do  everything,  only  unluckily  he 
is  too  lazy — that's  it,  isn't  it?" 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  merely  nodded  her 
head. 

"I  don't  dispute  it ;  you  ought  to  know  better 
than  I,"  observed  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  and  be- 
came a  little  sulky.    "It  is  not  in  my  line," 

Meanwhile  the  game  of  cards  was  over. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Vladimir  Sergeitch,"  said 
Ipatov,  getting  up — "a  gentleman  of  our  neigh- 
bourhood, a  most  excellent  and  worthy  man, 
Gavril  Stepanitch  Akilin,  asks  you  to  do  him 
the  honour  to  come  to  his  ball.  That  is,  I  call 
it  a  ball  to  give  it  a  fine  name,  but  it  is  simply 
289 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

a  little  evening  party,  a  dance  without  cere- 
mony. He  would  have  certainly  called  upon 
you  himself  but  he  was  afraid  of  disturbing 
you." 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  the  gentleman,"  said 
Vladimir  Sergeitch,  "but  I  absolutely  must  go 
home." 

"But  when  do  you  suppose  the  ball  is?  It's 
to-morrow.  It  is  Gavril  Stepanitch's  name-day 
to-morrow.  One  day  will  make  no  difference, 
and  you  will  give  him  so  much  pleasure!  And 
it  is  only  seven  miles  from  here.  If  you  will 
allow  us,  we'll  drive  you  there." 

"I  really  don't  know,"  began  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch.    "Are  you  going?" 

"Yes,  the  whole  family.  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna  and  Pyotr  Alexeitch,  we  are  all  going !" 

"You  can  ask  me  for  the  fifth  quadrille  now, 
if  you  like,"  observed  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna — 
"the  first  four  are  engaged  already." 

"You  are  very  kind ;  and  are  you  engaged  for 
the  mazurka?" 

"I?  Let  me  think.  .  .  .  No,  I  believe  I  am 
not." 

290 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"In  that  case,  if  you  would  be  so  kind  I 
should  like  to  have  the  honour  .  .  ." 

"You  are  going  then?  That's  capital.  Cer- 
tainly." 

"Bravo !"  cried  Ipatov.  "Well,  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch,  that  is  nice  of  you.  Gavril  Stepanitch 
will  be  simply  delighted,  won't  he,  Ivan  Ilyitch  ?" 

Ivan  Ilyitch  would  have  liked  to  remain 
silent  as  usual,  but  thought  it  better  to  emit  a 
sound  of  approval. 


"What  possessed  you,"  Pyotr  Alexeitch  asked 
his  sister  an  hour  later  as  he  sat  beside  her  in 
a  light  chaise  which  he  drove  himself — "what 
possessed  you  to  force  yourself  on  that  muflf 
for  the  mazurka  ?" 

"I  have  my  own  reasons,"  answered  Nad' 
yezhda  Alexyevna. 

"What  are  they,  may  I  ask?" 

"That's  my  secret." 

"Oho!" 

And  he  gave  a  light  switch  to  the  horse  which 
had  begun  to  twitch  its  ears,  snort  and  shy. 
291 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

It  was  frightened  by  the  shadow  of  a  big  bush 
of  willow  that  lay  across  the  road  in  the  dim 
moonlight. 

"And  will  you  dance  it  with  Masha?"  Nad- 
yezhda  Alexyevna  questioned  her  brother  in  her 
turn. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  indifferently. 

"Yes  I  Yes !"  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  repeated 
reproachfully.  "You  men,"  she  added  after  a 
pause,  "certainly  do  not  deserve  to  be  loved 
by  decent  women." 

"Don't  you  think  so?  And  that  Petersburg 
muff,  does  he  deserve  to  be?" 

"Better  than  you  do." 

"Oh  indeed!" 

And  Pyotr  Alexeitch  declaimed  with  a  sigh: 

"What  a  task  it  is,  O  Lord, 
To  be  ,  .  .  the  brother  of  a  grown-up  sister." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  laughed. 
"I  give  you  a  lot  of  trouble,  indeed!    It's  I 
who  have  a  task  with  you." 
"Really?    I  did  not  suspect  it." 
"I  am  not  talking  about  Masha." 
"What  about  then?" 

292 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna's  face  looked  a  little 
troubled. 

"You  know  very  well,"  she  said  softly. 

"Oh,  I  understand!  There's  no  help  for  it, 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  I  am  fond  of  a  glass  of 
wine  in  good  company,  sinful  man  that  I  am !" 

"Hush,  brother,  please  don't  talk  like  that. 
.  .  .  It's  not  a  joking  matter," 

"Tram  -  tram  -  tarn  -  poom,"  Pyotr  Alexeitch 
muttered  between  his  teeth. 

"It  will  be  your  ruin,  and  you  make  a  joke 

or  it." 

"  The  Peasant  Lad  the  Wheat  Is  Sowing'  " 
Pyotr  Alexeitch  sang  aloud,  switched  the  horse 
with  the  reins  and  it  broke  into  a  rapid  trot. 


293 


CHAPTER  IV 

When  he  got  home  Veretyev  did  not  undress, 
and  two  hours  later,  when  the  dawn  was  just 
beginning  to  glow  in  the  sky,  he  was  out  of 
the  house. 

Halfway  between  his  estate  and  Ipatov's,  on 
the  precipitous  edge  of  a  broad  ravine,  there 
was  a  small  birch  copse.  The  young  trees  were 
growing  very  close  together;  no  axe  had  yet 
touched  their  slender  stems;  a  patch  of  light 
but  almost  unbroken  shadow  was  thrown  by 
their  fine  leaves  on  the  soft,  delicate  grass,  all 
spangled  with  the  golden  heads  of  hen-dazzle, 
the  white  specks  of  wood  harebells  and  the 
crimson  crosses  of  the  wild  pinks.  The  newly 
risen  sun  flooded  the  whole  copse  with  vivid 
but  not  glaring  light;  dewdrops  were  glittering 
on  all  sides;  here  and  there  a  big  drop  would 
suddenly  glow  crimson.  Everything  was 
breathing  with  freshness,  with  life  and  that 
294 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

innocent  solemnity  of  the  first  moments  of 
morning  when  everything  is  already  so  bright 
and  yet  still  so  silent.  There  was  no  sound  but 
the  trilling  notes  of  larks  over  the  distant  fields 
and  in  the  copse  itself  two  or  three  birds  were 
without  haste  trying  their  brief  bars  and  as 
it  were  listening  to  the  effect.  From  the  wet 
earth  rose  a  strong,  fresh  fragrance;  the  pure 
light  air  was  stirred  by  cool  breezes.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  morning,  of  a  glorious  sum- 
mer morning  about  everything:  everything  had 
the  look  and  smile  of  morning  like  the  rosy, 
freshly  washed  little  face  of  a  child  just 
awake. 

Not  far  from  the  ravine  in  the  middle  of  a 
glade  Veretyev  was  sitting  on  a  cloak  spread 
on  the  ground.  Marya  Pavlovna  was  standing 
by  him,  leaning  against  a  birch-tree,  with  her 
hands  behind  her.  They  were  both  silent. 
Marya  Pavlovna  was  looking  fixedly  into  the 
distance;  her  white  scarf  had  slipped  off  her 
head  on  to  her  shoulders,  the  breeze  stirred  and 
lifted  the  ends  of  her  hastily  coiled  hair.  Veret- 
yev sat  bending  down,  striking  the  ground  with 
a  twig. 

295 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Well,"  he  began  at  last,  "are  you  angry 
with  me?" 

Marya  Pavlovna  did  not  answer. 

Veretyev  glanced  at  her. 

"Masha,  are  you  angry?"  he  repeated. 

Marya  Pavlovna  took  a  rapid  glance  at  him, 
turned  slightly  away  and  said: 

"Yes." 

"What  for?"  asked  Veretyev,  and  he  threw 
away  the  twig. 

Again  Marya  Pavlovna  did  not  answer. 

"You  have  a  right  to  be  angry  with  me, 
though,"  Veretyev  went  on  after  a  brief  silence. 
"You  must  look  upon  me  not  merely  as  frivo- 
lous but  even  .  .  ." 

"You  don't  understand  me,"  Marya  Pavlovna 
interrupted.  "I  am  not  angry  with  you  on  my 
own  account  at  all." 

"On  whose,  then  ?" 

"On  your  own." 

Veretyev  raised  his  head  and  gave  a  short 
laugh. 

"Ah,  I  understand !"  he  began.  "Again !  you 
are  beginning  to  be  worried  again  at  the  thought 
of  my  not  doing  anything  with  myself.  You 
296 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

know,  Masha,  you  are  a  wonderful  creature, 
you  really  arc.  You  think  so  much  about  other 
people  and  so  little  about  yourself.  You  have 
no  egoism  at  all,  really — there  is  not  another 
girl  like  you  in  the  world.  But  the  trouble  is 
that  I  don't  deserve  your  affection;  I  tell  you 
that  in  earnest." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you.  You  feel  and 
you  do  nothing." 

Veretyev  gave  a  short  laugh  again. 

"Masha,  pull  your  hand  from  behind  your 
back  and  give  it  to  me,"  he  said  with  an  in- 
sinuating caress  in  his  voice. 

Marya  Pavlovna  merely  shrugged  her  shoul- 
der. 

"Give  me  your  beautiful,  honest  hand ;  I  want 
to  implant  a  tender  and  respectful  kiss  upon  it, 
as  the  frivolous  pupil  kisses  the  hand  of  his 
indulgent  preceptor." 

And  Veretyev  stretched  forward  towards 
Marya  Pavlovna. 

"Oh,  don't !"  she  said ;  "you  are  always  laugh- 
ing and  joking  and  will  joke  away  all  your 
life." 

"H'm!  Joke  away  my  life!  A  new  expres- 
297 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

sion!  I  suppose,  Marya  Pavlovna,  you  used 
the  verb  'joke  away'  in  a  transitive  sense?" 

Marya  Pavlovna  frowned. 

"Don't,  Veretyev,"  she  repeated. 

"Joke  away  my  life,"  repeated  Veretyev,  and 
he  got  up — "but  you  will  make  a  worse  busi- 
ness of  it  than  I  shall ;  you  will  waste  your  life 
in  taking  things  seriously.  Do  you  know, 
Masha,  you  remind  me  of  a  scene  in  Pushkin's 
'Don  Juan.'  You  have  not  read  Pushkin's  'Don 
Juan?'" 

"No." 

"Oh,  no,  I  forgot,  you  don't  read  poetry. 
A  lady  called  Laura  has  visitors  come  to  see 
her;  she  drives  them  all  away  and  is  left  alone 
with  a  man  called  Carlos.  They  go  out  to- 
gether on  the  balcony;  it  is  a  glorious  riight. 
Laura  admires  it  and  Carlos  suddenly  begins 
to  point  out  to  her  that  she  will  grow  old  some 
day.  'What  of  it?'  Laura  answers — "at  this 
moment  perhaps  it  is  cold  and  raining  in  Paris 
but  here  'the  night  is  fragrant  of  lemons  and 
laurels.*  What's  the  use  of  looking  into  the 
future  ?  Look  about  you,  Masha,  is  it  not  lovely 
here?  Look  how  everything  is  rejoicing  in 
298 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

life,  how  youthful  it  all  is.  And  aren't  we 
young  ourselves?" 

Veretyev  went  closer  to  Marya  Pavlovna ;  she 
did  not  draw  back  but  she  did  not  turn  her 
head  towards  him. 

"Smile,  Masha,"  he  went  on,  "only  your  kind, 
good  smile  and  not  your  usual  mocking  one. 
I  love  your  good,  kind  smile — raise  your  proud, 
stern  eyes.  Well?  You  turn  away.  Hold  out 
your  hand  to  me,  anyway." 

"Ah,  Veretyev,"  Masha  began,  "you  know  I 
can't  talk.  You  tell  me  about  that  Laura.  But 
she  was  a  woman.  It's  pardonable  for  a  woman 
not  to  think  of  the  future." 

"When  you  speak,  Masha,"  replied  Veretyev, 
"you  continually  blush  from  pride  and  shyness ; 
the  blood  comes  rushing  to  your  cheeks  in  a 
flood  of  colour;  I  like  that  awfully  in  you." 

Marya  Pavlovna  looked  straight  into  Veret- 
yev's  eyes. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  and  she  pulled  her 
scarf  on  to  her  head.    Veretyev  held  her  back. 

"There,  there,"  he  cried,  "wait  a  little !  What 
is  it  you  want?  Give  me  my  orders.  Would 
you  like  me  to  go  into  the  service,  to  become  a 
299 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

farmer?  Would  you  like  me  to  publish  songs 
with  accompaniments  on  the  guitar,  to  publish 
a  collection  of  poems,  of  drawings,  to  take  up 
painting,  sculpture,  rope-dancing?  I'll  do  any- 
thing, anything  you  tell  me,  if  only  you  will 
be  pleased  with  me.  I  will  really,  Masha,  be- 
lieve me." 

Marya  Pavlovna  glanced  at  him  again, 

"All  that  is  only  words,  not  deeds.  You 
assure  me  you  obey  me  .  .  ." 

"Of  course,  I  do  obey." 

"You  obey  me  but  how  many  times  have  I 
asked  you  .  .  ." 

"What?" 

Marya  Pavlovna  hesitated. 

"Not  to  drink,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Ech,  Masha,  Masha!  So  you  are  at  that 
too !  My  sister  distresses  herself  about  that. 
But  in  the  first  place  I  am  not  a  drunkard ;  and 
in  the  second,  do  you  know  why  I  drink  ?  Look 
at  that  swallow  there.  .  .  .  See  how  boldly  it 
disposes  of  its  little  body;  it  flings  it  wherever 
it  likes!  See,  it  has  darted  upwards  and  now 
it  has  dropped  down;  it  actually  squealed  with 
joy;  do  you  hear?  So  that's  why  I  drink, 
300 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Masha — to  experience  the  same  sensations  as 
that  swallow  ...  to  fling  oneself  where  one 
will,  to  fly  where  the  fancy  takes  one  .  .  ." 
"But  what  is  it  all  for?"  Masha  interrupted. 
"How  can  you  ask  that  ?  What  else  is  there 
to  live  for?" 

"And  can't  it  be  done  without  drinking?" 
"No,  it  can't:  we  are  all  blighted  and  de- 
generate.   Passion,  now  .  .  .  that  produces  the 
same  effect.     That  is  why  I  love  you." 
"As  you  do  wine  .  .  .  much  obliged." 
"No,  Masha;  I  love  you  not  as  I  do  wine. 
Wait  a  little,  I  will  prove  it  to  you  some  day 
when  we  are  married  and  go  abroad.    Do  you 
know  I  am  dreaming  already  how  I  shall  lead 
you  before  the  Venus  of  Milo.  It  will  be  just 
the  moment  to  repeat: 

"If  with  grave  eyes  she  stood  before 
The  Queen  of  Love  from  Melos   famed, 
Of  the  two  goddesses,  I  trow, 
The   marble   beauty   would  be   shamed." 

Why  is  it  I  keep  talking  in  verse  to-day?  It 
must  be  the  influence  of  the  morning.  What 
air!     It's  like  wine." 

"Wine  again,"  observed  Marya  Pavlovna. 
301 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"What  of  it?  Such  a  morning  and  you  with 
me — what  could  be  more  intoxicating?  'With 
her  grave  eyes.*  Yes,"  Veretyev  went  on,  look- 
ing intently  at  Marya  Pavlovna,  "that  is  so- 
.  .  .  But  yet  I  remember  that  I  have  seen — not 
often  it  is  true,  but  I  have  seen — those  splendid 
dark  eyes  look  tender.  And  how  lovely  they 
are  then!  Come,  don't  turn  away,  Masha, 
laugh,  anyway  .  .  .  Show  me  your  eyes  merry, 
at  least,  if  they  won't  grant  me  a  tender  look." 

"Leave  off,  Veretyev,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna ; 
"let  me  go;  it  is  time  I  was  at  home." 

"I'll  make  you  laugh,  though,"  Veretyev  in- 
terposed, "upon  my  word  I  will.  Oh,  look, 
there  runs  a  hare!" 

"Where?"  asked  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"Over  there,  beyond  the  ravine,  through  the 
field  of  oats — someone  must  have  frightened  it ; 
they  don't  run  in  the  morning.  Would  you  like 
me  to  stop  it?" 

And  Veretyev  gave  a  loud  whistle.  The  hare 
at  once  squatted,  moved  its  ears,  tucked  in  its 
forepaws,  drew  itself  up,  munched,  sniffed  and 
munched  again !  Veretyev  nimbly  squatted  on 
his  heels  like  the  hare  and  began  moving  his 
302 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

nose,  sniffing  and  munching  like  the  hare.  The 
hare  passed  its  paws  once  or  twice  over  its  face, 
shook  itself — its  paws  must  have  been  wet  with 
the  dew — ^pricked  up  its  ears  and  bounded  off. 
Veretyev  rubbed  his  cheeks  with  his  hands  and 
shook  himself  too.  .  .  .  Marya  Pavlovna  could 
not  refrain  from  laughing. 

"Bravo !"  cried  Veretyev,  and  he  jumped  up, 
"bravo !  You  certainly  are  not  a  coquette.  Do 
you  know  that  if  any  society  lady  had  teeth 
like  yours  she  would  be  forever  laughing !  But 
that  is  what  I  love  you  for,  Masha,  that  you 
are  not  a  society  lady,  you  don't  laugh  without 
occasion,  you  don't  wear  gloves,  and  it  is  so 
nice  to  kiss  your  hands  because  they  are  sun- 
burnt and  one  feels  how  strong  they  are.  .  .  . 
I  love  you  because  you  don't  go  in  for  being 
clever,  because  you  are  proud  and  silent,  don't 
read  books,  don't  like  poetry  .  .  ." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  repeat  some  poetry 
to  you  ?"  Marya  Pavlovna  interrupted  him  with 
a  peculiar  expression  in  her  face. 

"Poetry?"  said  Veretyev  in  surprise. 

"Yes,    some  poetry   which  that    Petersburg 
gentleman  recited  to  us  last  night." 
303 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"The  'Upas  Tree'  again?  So  you  really  were 
repeating  it  at  night  in  the  garden  ?  The  poem 
suits  you.  .  ,  .  But  do  you  really  like  it  so 
much?" 

"Yes,  I  like  it." 

"Repeat  it." 

Marya  Pavlovna  was  a  liftle  abashed. 

"Repeat  it,  repeat  it,"  Veretyev  insisted. 

Marya  Pavlovna  began  repeating  it.  Veret- 
yev stood  facing  her,  folded  his  arms  and  lis- 
tened. At  the  first  line  Marya  Pavlovna  lifted 
her  eyes  towards  the  sky:  she  did  not  want  to 
meet  Veretyev's  eyes.  She  repeated  the  verses 
in  her  mellow  even  voice  which  recalled  the 
notes  of  a  violoncello;  but  when  she  reached 
the  lines: 

"And  at  his  mighty  sovereign's   feet 
Fell  the  poor  slave,  and  died," 

her  voice  quivered,  her  haughty,  immobile  eye- 
brows were  raised  naively  like  a  child's  and 
her  eyes  rested  on  Veretyev  with  involuntary 
devotion. 

He  suddenly  flung  himself  at  her  feet  and 
embraced  her  knees. 

304 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"I  am  your  slave,"  he  cried,  "I  am  at  your 
feet,  you  are  my  sovereign,  my  goddess,  my 
ox-eyed  Hera,  my  Medea  .  .  ." 

Marya  Pavlovna  was  going  to  push  him 
away ;  but  her  hands  lay  motionless  on  his  curly 
hair  and  with  a  smile  of  confusion  she  bowed 
her  head. 


30s 


CHAPTER  V 

Gavril  Stepanitch  Akilin,  who  was  giving 
the  ball,  belonged  to  that  class  of  country  gentle- 
men who  arouse  the  wonder  of  their  neighbours 
by  their  faculty  of  living  well  and  keeping  open 
house  on  insufficient  means.  Though  he  had 
no  more  than  four  hundred  serfs  he  entertained 
the  whole  province  in  a  huge  stone  mansion 
erected  by  himself,  with  columns,  with  a  tower, 
and  a  flagstaff  upon  it.  His  estate  had  come 
to  him  from  his  father  and  had  never  been 
noted  for  its  good  condition;  Gavril  Stepan- 
itch was  for  many  years  absent  from  it,  serv- 
ing in  Petersburg;  at  last,  fifteen  years  pre- 
viously, he  had  returned  to  his  native  place 
with  the  grade  of  collegiate  assessor,  with  a 
wife  and  three  daughters.  He  began  simul- 
taneously building  and  introducing  improve- 
ments, immediately  set  up  an  orchestra  and  gave 
dinner  parties.  At  first  everyone  prophesied 
306 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

that  he  would  inevitably  be  ruined  before  long ; 
more  than  once  there  were  rumours  that  Gavril 
Stepanitch's  estate  was  to  be  sold  by  auction ; 
but  the  years  passed,  dinner  parties,  balls,  fetes, 
concerts  followed  one  another  as  before,  new 
buildings  rose  like  mushrooms  from  the  ground, 
and  Gavril  Stepanitch's  estate  was  still  not  put 
up  to  auction  and  he  went  on  living  as  before 
and  had  even  grown  stout  of  late.  Then  the 
neighbours'  gossip  took  another  turn;  they  be- 
gan hinting  at  some  considerable  sums  which 
had,  they  said,  been  kept  secret,  there  was  talk 
of  buried  treasure.  .  .  .  "If  he  had  been  a  good 
manager,"  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood 
argued,  "one  could  understand  it,  but  he  is  not, 
not  at  all!  That's  what  is  so  surprising  and 
unaccountable."  However  that  might  be,  every- 
one was  very  ready  to  visit  Gavril  Stepanitch; 
he  was  hospitable  and  would  play  cards  for 
any  stake.  He  was  a  little  man  with  grey  hair 
and  a  conical-shaped  head,  a  yellow  face  and 
yellow  eyes,  always  carefully  shaved  and 
scented  with  eau-de-cologne.  He  wore  on  ordi- 
nary days  as  well  as  on  holidays  a  loose  blue 
swallowtail,  buttoned  up  to  the  neck,  a  big 
307 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

cravat  into  which  he  had  the  habit  of  sticking 
his  chin,  and  he  prided  himself  on  his  Hnen ;  he 
screwed  up  his  eyes  and  thrust  out  his  lips  when 
he  took  snuff  and  spoke  very  softly  and  affably. 
Gavril  Stepanitch  was  not  distinguished  by  his 
liveliness  and  in  fact  was  not  prepossessing  in 
appearance  and  did  not  look  particularly  intel- 
ligent, though  there  was  sometimes  a  gleam  of 
cunning  in  his  eye.  He  had  made  good  matches 
for  his  two  elder  daughters,  the  younger  was 
still  at  home  unmarried.  Gavril  Stepanitch  had 
also  a  wife,  an  insignificant  creature  who  had 
not  a  word  to  say  for  herself. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  arrived  at  Ipatov's  wearing  a  dress- 
coat  and  white  gloves.  He  found  them  all 
dressed  ready  to  set  off ;  the  little  girls  were  sit- 
ting stiffly,  afraid  of  crumpling  their  starched 
white  frocks.  Old  Ipatov  genially  reproached 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  when  he  saw  that  the  young 
man  was  wearing  a  dress-coat,  and  pointed  to 
his  own  frock-coat.  Marya  Pavlovna  wore  a 
deep  pink  muslin  dress  which  suited  her  ad- 
mirably. Vladimir  Sergeitch  paid  her  a  few 
compliments — Marya  Pavlovna's  beauty  at- 
308 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

tracted  him  though  she  was  evidently  shy  of 
him;  he  hked  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  too,  but 
the  freedom  of  her  mamiers  rather  embarrassed 
him.  Moreover,  in  her  vi^ords,  in  her  looks  and 
smiles  there  was  often  a  shade  of  mockery,  and 
that  troubled  his  well-bred  Petersburg  soul. 
He  would  have  had  no  objection  to  joining  her 
in  mocking  other  people,  but  it  was  disagreeable 
that  she  might  perhaps  be  capable  of  laughing 
at  him. 

The  ball  had  already  begun;  a  good  many 
guests  had  assembled  and  the  home-trained 
orchestra  was  blaring,  droning  and  squeaking 
in  the  gallery  when  the  Ipatov  family  with 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  entered  the  ballroom.  Their 
host  met  them  at  the  door,  thanked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  for  the  feeling  way  in  which  he  had 
so  agreeably  surprised  them — as  he  expressed 
himself — and,  taking  Ipatov  by  the  arm,  he  led 
him  off  to  the  drawing-room,  to  the  card-tables. 

Gavril  Stepanitch  had  had  an  inferior  educa- 
tion, and  everything  in  his  house — the  music, 
the  furniture,  the  food,  the  wines — could  not 
even  be  called  second  rate.  On  the  other  hand 
there  was  plenty  of  everything,  and  he  was  not 

309 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

stuck  up  and  did  not  give  himself  airs.  .  .  .  The 
gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood  asked  nothing 
more  of  him  and  were  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  entertainment  he  gave  them.  At  supper, 
for  instance,  they  handed  caviare  cut  into  hard 
blocks  and  over-salted,  but  no  one  prevented 
one  from  taking  it  with  one's  fingers,  and  there 
was  plenty  to  wash  it  down  with;  cheap  wine, 
it  is  true,  but  real  wine  made  from  grapes,  not 
any  other  beverage.  The  springs  in  the  furni- 
ture were  so  stiff  and  unyielding  as  to  be  rather 
uncomfortable,  but  to  say  nothing  of  there 
being  many  armchairs  and  sofas  that  had  no 
springs  at  all,  anyone  could  get  hold  of  a  wool- 
embroidered  cushion  to  put  on  his  seat,  for 
such  cushions  embroidered  by  Madame  Akilin's 
own  hands  lay  about  in  great  profusion  every- 
where— and  then  there  was  nothing  left  to  be 
desired. 

In  short  Gavril  Stepanitch's  house  was  per- 
fectly in  keeping  with  the  social  and  uncere- 
monious manners  of  the  X.  district,  and  it  was 
simply  due  to  Gavril  Stepanitch's  own  modesty 
that  the  marshal  of  the  nobility  elected  was  not 
he,  but  a  retired  major  called  Podpekin,  a  very 
310 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

respectable  and  worthy  man  though  he  combed 
his  hair  from  his  left  ear  over  his  right  temple, 
dyed  his  moustache  a  purplish  tint  and,  suffer- 
ing from  asthma,  sank  into  depression  after 
dinner. 

And  so  the  ball  had  already  begun.  A  quad- 
rille of  ten  couples  was  being  danced.  The 
gentlemen  were  officers  of  a  regiment  stationed 
in  the  neighbourhood,  young  or  youngish  land- 
owners, and  two  or  three  officials  from  the  town. 
Everything  was  as  it  should  be,  everything 
was  going  well.  The  marshal  of  the  nobility 
was  playing  cards  with  a  retired  actual  civil 
councillor  and  a  rich  gentleman,  the  owner  of 
three  thousand  serfs.  The  actual  civil  council- 
lor wore  on  his  first  finger  a  diamond  ring, 
spoke  very  slowly  and  always  kept  his  heels 
together  and  his  feet  turned  out  in  the  position 
affected  by  old-fashioned  dancers ;  he  never 
turned  his  head,  which  was  half  concealed  by  a 
magnificent  velvet  collar.  The  wealthy  gentle- 
man, on  the  other  hand,  was  continually  laugh- 
ing, raising  his  eyebrows  and  flashing  the  whites 
of  his  eyes. 

The  poet  Bodryakov,  a  man  of  clumsy  and 
..^11 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

wild  appearance,  was  talking  in  a  corner  witH 
the  learned  historian  Yevsyukov;  they  were 
holding  each  other  by  their  buttons.  Near  them 
one  gentleman  with  an  extraordinarily  long 
waist  was  expounding  some  bold  opinions  to 
another  gentleman  who  gazed  timidly  at  the 
top  of  his  head.  Mammas  in  various  coloured 
caps  were  sitting  in  a  row  along  the  walls;  at 
the  doors  there  were  groups  of  gentlemen  of 
a  humbler  sort,  young  men  looking  embarrassed, 
older  men  looking  unassuming;  but  there  is  no 
describing  it  all.  All  was  as  it  should  be,  I 
repeat. 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  had  arrived  before  the 
Ipatovs.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  saw  her  dancing 
with  a  handsome  young  man  with  expressive 
eyes,  with  a  thin  black  moustache  and  shining 
teeth,  wearing  a  smart  dress-coat  and  a  gold 
chain  hanging  in  a  semi-circle  on  his  waistcoat. 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  was  dressed  in  blue  with 
white  flowers;  a  small  wreath  of  the  same 
flowers  was  twisted  round  her  curly  hair.  She 
smiled,  flirted  her  fan  and  looked  gaily  about 
her;  she  felt  herself  the  queen  of  the  ball. 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  up  to  her,  bowed  and, 
312 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

looking  at  her  affably,  asked  her  whether  she 
remembered  her  promise  of  yesterday. 

"What  promise?" 

"You  are  dancing  the  mazurka  with  me, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course/' 

The  young  man  who  was  standing  near 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  suddenly  turned  crimson. 

"I  think  you  have  forgotten,  Mademoiselle," 
he  began,  "that  you  had  promised  the  mazurka 
to  me." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  was  confused. 

"Oh,  dear,  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  she  said : 
"please  forgive  me,  !Monsieur  Steltchinsky,  T 
am  so  careless :  I  am  really  so  ashamed." 

Monsieur  Steltchinsky  said  nothing  and 
dropped  his  eyes ;  Vladimir  Sergeitch  drew  him- 
self up  slightly. 

"Be  so  kind,  Monsieur  Steltchinsky,"  Nad- 
yezhda Alexyevna  went  on ;  "we  are  old  f reinds 
while  Monsieur  Astahov  is  a  stranger:  do  not 
put  me  in  a  difficult  position ;  allow  me  to  dance 
with  him." 

"As  you  please,"  said  the  young  man.    "It's 
for  you  to  begin,  though." 
313 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Thank  you,"  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  pro- 
nounced and  fluttered  off  to  meet  her  vis-a-vis. 

Steltchinsky  glanced  after  her,  then  looked 
at  Vladimir  Sergeitch.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  in 
his  turn  looked  at  him  and  walked  away. 

The  quadrille  was  soon  over.  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  walked  up  and  down  the  ballroom 
a  little,  then  went  into  the  drawing-room  and 
stopped  beside  one  of  the  card-tables.  All  at 
once  he  felt  someone  behind  him  touch  his  arm ; 
he  turned  round — Steltchinsky  stood  before 
him, 

"I  want  a  couple  of  words  with  you  in  the 
next  room  with  your  kind  permission,"  he  pro- 
nounced in  French  with  great  politeness  and 
not  with  a  Russian  accent. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  followed  him. 

Steltchinsky  stopped  at  the  window. 

"In  the  presence  of  a  lady,"  he  said  in  the 
same  language,  "I  could  not  say  anything  but 
what  I  did;  but  you  do  not,  I  hope,  imagine 
that  I  really  intend  to  surrender  to  you  my  right 
to  dance  the  mazurka  with  M-elle  Veretieff" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  surprised. 

"How  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 
314 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"What  I  mean,"  Steltchinsky  answered 
calmly,  his  nostrils  dilating  as  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  waistcoat,  "is  that  I  don't  intend 
to,  that's  all." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
waistcoat,  too,  but  his  nostrils  did  not  dilate. 

"Allow  me  to  observe,  my  dear  sir,"  he  began, 
"you  may  put  M-elle  Veretieff  in  an  unpleasant 
position  by  your  action,  and  I  imagine  .  .  ." 

"That  would  be  most  painful  to  me,  but  no 
one  hinders  you  from  withdrawing,  declaring 
yourself  unwell  or  going  away  .  .  ." 

"I  am  not  going  to  do  that.  What  do  you 
take  me  for?" 

"In  that  case  I  shall  be  forced  to  ask  you  to 
give  me  satisfaction." 

"Satisfaction  ...  in  what  sense?" 

"In  the  obvious  sense." 

"You  are  challenging  me  to  a  duel?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  do  not  give  up  the  ma- 
zurka." Steltchinsky  tried  to  utter  these  words 
in  the  most  unconcerned  manner  possible. 
Vladimir  Sergeitch's  heart  gave  a  jump.  He 
looked  into  the  face  of  his  unexpected  assailant. 
"Good  Lord,"  he  thought,  "what  idiocy !" 
315 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"You  are  not  joking?"  he  said  aloud. 

"It  is  not  my  habit  to  joke,"  Steltchinsky 
repHed  with  dignity,  "and  especially  with  per- 
sons with  whom  I  am  not  acquainted.  You 
will  not  give  up  the  mazurka  ?"  he  added  after 
a  brief  pause. 

"I  will  not  give  it  up,"  answered  Vladimir 
Sergeitch,  as  though  reflecting. 

"Very  good !    We  will  fight  to-morrow. 

"To-morrow  morning  my  second  will  call  on 
you."  And  with  a  polite  bow  Steltchinsky  re- 
tired, evidently  very  well  pleased  with  himself. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  remained  a  few  moments 
longer  at  the  window. 

"Here's  a  nice  business,"  he  thought.  "That's 
what  comes  of  making  new  acquaintances!  I 
was  an  ass  to  come !    Very  nice !    Charming !" 

He  pulled  himself  together  at  last,  however, 
and  went  into  the  ballroom. 

There  they  were  already  dancing  the  polka. 
Marya  Pavlovna  flitted  by  him  dancing  with 
Pyotr  Alexeitch,  whom  he  had  not  noticed  till 
then;  she  looked  pale  and  even  melancholy; 
then  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  whirled  by  him,  all 
brightness  and  delight,  with  a  little  bandy-legged 
316 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

but  ardent  artillery  officer^  at  the  next  round 
she  was  dancing  with  Steltchinsky,  who  as  he 
danced  kept  tossing  his  hair  back. 

"Why,  my  good  sir,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
heard  the  voice  of  Ipatov  behind  him,  "why  are 
you  looking  on  and  not  dancing?  Confess  now, 
though  we  do  live,  so  to  say,  in  a  quiet  back- 
water, it  is  not  bad  here,  is  it?" 

"Nice  sort  of  backwater,  damn  it!"  thought 
Valdimir  Sergeitch,  and  muttering  some  sort  of 
answer  to  Ipatov  he  went  to  the  other  end  of 
the  ballroom, 

"I  shall  have  to  find  a  second,"  he  thought, 
continuing  his  reflections,  "and  where  the  devil 
am  I  to  find  him?  Veretyev  is  out  of  the 
question ;  I  don't  know  any  of  the  others ;  who 
the  devil  would  have  thought  of  such  an  absurd 
business  ?" 

V  ladimir  Sergeitch  was  fond  of  mentioning 
the  devil  when  he  was  vexed. 

At  that  moment  Vl?dimir  Sergeitch's  eyes 
fell  on  the  Adjustable  Soul,  Ivan  Ilyitch,  who 
was  standing  doing  nothing  by  fhe  window. 

"Wouldn't  he  do?"  he  thought,  and,  shrug- 
317 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ging  his  shoulders,  he  added  almost  aloud,  "I 
shall  have  to  ask  him." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  up  to  him, 

"I  have  just  had  a  very  queer  adventure," 
our  hero  began  with  a  forced  smile — "only 
imagine,  a  young  man,  a  complete  stranger,  has 
just  challenged  me  to  a  duel;  it  is  utterly  im- 
possible to  refuse  it;  I  must  have  a  second; 
may  I  ask  you  ?" 

Although  Ivan  Ilyitch  was  distinguished,  as 
the  reader  is  aware,  by  imperturbable  indif- 
ference, even  he  was  strcuk  by  so  unusual  a 
suggestion.  He  stared  at  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
in  perplexity. 

"Yes,"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  "I  should  be 
very  much  indebted  to  you ;  I  know  no  one  here. 
You  are  the  only  one  who  .  .  ." 

"I  cannot,"  Ivan  Ilyitch  brought  out  as  though 
waking  up  from  sleep — "it  is  utterly  impos- 
sible." 

"Why?  You  are  afraid  of  unpleasantness; 
but  I  hope  it  will  all  be  kept  secret." 

As  he  said  this,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  felt  that 
he  flushed  and  was  confused. 
318 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"How  stupid !  How  awfully  stupid  it  all  is !" 
he  was  saying  inwardly. 

"Excuse  me,  I  can't  possibly,"  repeated  Ivan 
Ilyitch,  shaking  his  head  and  drawing  back,  up- 
setting a  chair  again  as  he  did  so. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had 
to  refuse  a  request ;  but  it  was  such  a  request ! 

"Anyway,"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch  in  an 
agitated  voice,  catching  hold  of  his  arm,  "you 
will  do  me  the  favour  not  to  speak  to  anyone 
of  what  I  have  told  you,  I  beg  you  most 
earnestly." 

"That  I  can  do,  that  I  can  do,"  Ivan  Ilyitch 
replied  hurriedly,  "but  the  other  thing  I  can't, 
say  what  you  like,  I  am  not  equal  to  it." 

"Very  well,  very  well,"  said  Valdimir  Serge- 
itch,  "but  don't  forget  that  I  count  upon  your 
discretion.  ...  I  shall  inform  that  gentleman 
to-morrow,"  he  muttered  to  himself  with  vexa- 
tion, "that  I  could  not  find  a  second;  he  can 
arrange  himself  as  he  hkes  best ;  I  am  a  stranger 
here.  What  the  devil  possessed  me  to  apply 
to  this  fellow!    But  what  could  I  do?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  felt  very,  very  much  put 
out. 

319 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Meanwhile  the  ball  went  on.  He  felt  very 
much  inclined  to  go  away  at  once,  but  till  the 
mazurka  was  over  going  away  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  How  could  he  let  his  opponent 
triumph?  Unluckily  for  Vladimir  Sergeitch, 
Ihe  master  of  the  ceremonies  was  a  free-and- 
easy  young  man  with  long  hair  and  a  hollow 
chest,  over  which  a  black  satin  cravat,  with  a 
huge  gold  pin  in  it,  flowed  like  a  small  water- 
fall. This  young  man  had  the  reputation  all 
over  the  province  of  being  completely  versed 
in  all  the  customs  and  traditions  of  the  highest 
society,  though  he  had  only  spent  six  months 
in  Petersburg  and  had  not  succeeded  in  pene- 
trating into  anything  higher  than  the  houses 
of  the  collegiate  councillor  Sandaraki  and  his 
son-in-law,  the  civil  councillor,  Kostandaraki : 
he  led  the  dances  at  every  ball,  signalled  to  the 
musicians  by  clapping  his  hands;  in  the  midst 
of  the  blare  of  the  trumpets  and  the  scraping 
of  the  fiddles  shouted,  "En  avant  deux!"  or 
"Grande  chaine"  or  "A  vous,  mademoiselle," 
and  pale  and  perspiring,  kept  flying  about,  glid- 
ing and  scraping  on  the  floor.  He  never  be- 
gan the  mazurka  before  midnight.  "And  that's 
320 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

something  to  be  thankful  for,"  he  would  say; 
"in  Petersburg  I  should  have  kept  you  waiting 
for  it  till  two  o'clock." 

The  ball  seemed  long  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 
He  wandered  like  a  shadow  from  the  ballroom 
to  the  drawing-room,  from  time  to  time  ex- 
changing frigid  glances  with  his  rival,  who  did 
not  miss  a  single  dance,  asked  Marya  Pavlovna 
for  a  quadrille,  but  she  was  engaged — and  once 
or  twice  said  a  few  words  to  his  solicitous  host 
who  seemed  troubled  by  the  look  of  boredom  on 
the  face  of  his  new  acquaintance.  At  last  the 
strains  of  the  longed-for  mazurka  were  heard. 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  sought  out  his  partner, 
brought  two  chairs  and  sat  with  her  among  the 
last  couples,  almost  facing  Steltchinsky. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  the  young  leader  of 
the  dances  was  the  first  to  begin.  His  counte- 
nance as  he  began  the  mazurka,  the  way  he 
drew  his  partner  after  him,  while  he  struck  the 
floor  with  his  foot  and  tossed  his  head — to  de- 
scribe all  this  is  almost  beyond  the  pen  of  man. 

"I  think  you  are  bored,  Monsieur  Astahov," 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  began,  addressing  Vladi- 
mir Sergeitch. 

321 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"I?  Not  in  the  least.  What  makes  you 
think  so?" 

"Why,  from  your  expression.  .  .  .  You  have 
not  smiled  once  since  you  came  in.  I  did  not 
expect  that  of  you.  It  doesn't  suit  you,  prac- 
tical gentlemen,  to  scowl  and  be  unsociable  a 
la  Byron — leave  that  to  the  poets." 

"I  notice,  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  that  you 
frequently  call  me  a  practical  person  by  way 
of  mocking  at  me.  I  suppose  you  look  upon 
me  as  a  cold  and  very  sensible  being,  not  capa- 
ble of  anything.  But  do  you  know  what  I  can 
tell  you:  a  practical  person  may  often  feel  any- 
thing but  light-hearted,  though  he  does  not 
think  it  necessary  to  display  to  others  what  is 
passing  within  him;  he  prefers  to  be  silent!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Nad- 
yezhda Alexyevna  with  a  glance  at  him. 

"Nothing,"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  with  af- 
fected indifference,  and  he  assumed  a  mysteri- 
ous air. 

"But  still?" 

"Nothing,  really.  .  .  .  One  day  you'  will 
know,  later." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  would  have  pursued 
322 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

her  questions  but  at  that  instant  a  young  lady, 
the  daughter  of  the  host,  led  up  to  her  Stelt- 
chinsky  and  another  gentleman  in  blue  spec- 
tacles. 

"Life  or  death?"  she  asked  in  French. 

"Life,"  cried  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna,  "I  don't 
want  death  yet." 

Steltchinsky  bowed  and  led  her  off. 

The  gentleman  in  blue  spectacles  referred  to 
as  death  led  off  the  daughter  of  the  house. 
Both  names  had  been  suggested  by  Steltchinsky. 

"Tell  me,  please,  who  is  this  Mr.  Steltchin- 
sky?" Vladimir  Sergeitch  asked  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  as  soon  as  the  latter  came  back  to 
her  seat. 

"He  is  in  the  Governor's  service,  a  very 
agreeable  young  man.  He  does  not  belong 
here.  He  is  rather  a  coxcomb  but  that's  in 
their  blood.  I  hope  you  have  not  had  any  dif- 
ficulties with  him  about  the  mazurka?" 

"Not  the  slightest,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch  re- 
plied with  some  hesitation. 

"I  am  so  forgetful!    You  can't  imagine." 

"I  ought  to  rejoice  in  your  forget  fulness :  it 
323 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

has  given  me  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you 
this  evening." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  looked  at  him,  slightly 
screwing  up  her  eyes: 

"Really?  You  are  glad  to  dance  with  me?" 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  responded  with  a  com- 
pliment. Little  by  little  he  began  talking 
freely.  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  was  always 
very  charming,  and  was  especially  so  that  eve- 
ning; Vladimir  Sergeitch  thought  her  delight- 
ful. The  thought  of  the  duel  next  day,  work- 
ing upon  his  nerves,  gave  brilliance  and  live- 
liness to  his  talk;  under  the  influence  of  it  he 
allowed  himself  some  exaggeration  in  the  ex- 
pression of  his  feelings  .  .  .  "Well,  come  what 
may!"  In  all  his  words,  in  his  stifled  sighs, 
in  the  sudden  gloom  that  from  time  to  time 
clouded  his  face,  there  was  something  of  mys- 
tery, of  involuntary  sadness  and  picturesque 
despair.  He  unbent  at  last,  so  far  as  to  be 
talking  of  love,  of  women,  of  his  future,  of 
his  conception  of  happiness  and  of  what  he 
asked  of  fate.  .  .  .  He  expressed  himself  in- 
directly, in  hints.     On  the  eve  of  possible  death 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Vladimir    Sergeitch    flirted    with    Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna. 

She  listened  to  him  attentively,  laughed,  shook 
her  head,  sometimes  disputed  with  him,  some- 
times pretended  to  be  incredulous.  .  .  .  The 
conversation,  frequently  interrupted  by  the 
other  dances,  took  at  last  a  rather  strange  turn 
.  .  .  Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  questioning 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  about  herself,  about  her 
character,  about  her  tastes.  ...  At  first  she 
turned  off  his  questions  with  a  jest,  then  sud- 
denly to  his  surprise  asked  him  when  he  was 
going  away. 

"Where?"  he  asked,  wondering. 

"Home." 

"To  Sasovo?" 

"No,  home,  to  your  estate,  sevenfy  miles 
away  ?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  dropped  his  eyes. 

"I  should  like  it  to  be  as  soon  as  possible," 
he  brought  out  with  a  troubled  face.  "I  ex- 
pect, to-morrow  ...  if  I  am  still  living.  I 
have  business,  you  know.  But  what  makes  you 
ask  me  about  it?" 

325 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna. 

"What  was  the  reason,  though?" 

"Nothing,"  she  repeated.  "I  am  surprised 
at  the  curiosity  of  a  man  who  is  going  away 
to-morrow,  and  to-day  cares  to  find  out  what  I 
am  like." 

"But  really  .  .  ."  Vladimir  Sergeitch  was 
beginning. 

"Oh,  this  is  appropriate  .  .  .  read  this," 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  interrupted  him  with  a 
laugh,  handing  him  the  paper  from  a  sweet 
which  she  had  just  picked  up  from  a  little  table, 
and  she  got  up  to  meet  Marya  Pavlovna,  who 
had  come  up  to  her  with  another  lady. 

Marya  Pavlovna  was  dancing  with  Pyotr 
Alexeitch.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  heated 
but  did  not  look  any  happier. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  looked  at  the  paper;:=:=on 
it  was  printed  in  inferior  French  type:i  Qui 
me  neglige  me  per d.    \  '- 

He  looked  up  and^'caught  Steltchinsky's  eyes 
fixed  upon  him.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  gave  a 
forced  smile,  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  back  of 
326 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

a  chair  and  crossed  his  legs,  as  though  to  say, 
"So  much  for  you !" 

The  ardent  artillery  officer  whirled  Nad- 
yezhda  Alexyevna  back  to  her  seat,  slowly  ro- 
tated with  her  in  front  of  it,  made  a  bow, 
clanked  his  spurs  and  departed.     She  sat  down. 

"Allow  me  to  ask,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch  be- 
gan deliberately,  "how  am  I  to  take  that 
motto?" 

"What  was  it?"  said  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna. 
"Oh,  yes !  Qui  me  neglige  me  pcrd.  Why !  It 
is  an  excellent  practical  rule  which  may  apply 
at  every  turn.  To  succeed  in  any  pursuit  one 
must  neglect  nothing',  .  .  .  One  must  try  for 
all  and  perhaps  one  will  get  something.  But 
it's  funny :  here  am  I,  I  .  .  .  giving  good  advice 
to  a  practical  person  like  you." 

Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  laughed  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  mazurka  Vladimir  Sergeitch  tried 
in  vain  to  go  back  to  the  previous  conversation. 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  turned  it  off  with  the 
wilfulness  of  a  capricious  child.  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  talked  to  her  of  her  feelings  and  she 
either  refrained  from  answering  him  altogether 
or  drew  his  attention  to  the  dresses  of  the 
327 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ladies,  to  the  absurd  faces  of  some  of  the  men, 
to  the  perfection  of  her  brother's  dancing,  to 
the  beauty  of  Marya  Pavlovna;  she  talked  about 
music,  of  what  they  had  done  the  day  before, 
of  Yegor  Kapitonitch  and  his  wife  Matryona 
Markovna  .  .  .  and  only  at  the  very  end  of 
the  mazurka  when  Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  be- 
ginning to  make  his  last  bows  she  said  with  an 
ironical  smile  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes: 

"And  so  you  really  are  going  away  to-mor- 
row?" 

"Yes;  and  perhaps  for  a  long  journey," 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  said  significantly. 

"I  wish  you  bon  voyage."  And  Nadyezhda 
Alexyevna  went  quickly  to  her  brother,  whis- 
pered something  gaily  in  his  ear,  then  asked 
aloud : 

"Are  you  grateful  to  me?  Yes?  Aren't 
you?  But  for  me  he  would  have  asked  her  for 
the  mazurka." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said: 

"It  will  lead  to  nothing,  anyway." 

She  led  him  into  the  drawing-room. 

"The  flirt !"  thought  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  and, 
picking  up  his  hat,  he  slipped  unnoticed  out  of 
i328 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

the  ballroom,  found  his  groom  whom  he  had 
told  to  be  in  readiness  and  was  putting  on  his 
overcoat  when  to  his  extreme  astonishment,  his 
groom  told  him  that  they  could  not  go,  that  the 
coachman  had  somehow  succeeded  in  getting 
drunk  and  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  wak- 
ing him.  Swearing  very  briefly  but  very  ex- 
pressively at  the  absent  coachman  (there  were 
other  people  in  the  hall),  and  telling  the  groom 
that  if  the  coachman  were  not  in  a  fit  state  by 
the  early  morning  no  one  in  the  world  could 
imagine  what  the  consequences  would  be, 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  back  to  the  ballroom 
and  asked  the  butler  to  give  him  a  bedroom 
without  waiting  for  the  supper  which  was  being 
laid  in  the  drawing-room.  The  master  of  the 
house  seemed  suddenly  to  spring  out  of  the 
floor  just  at  Vladimir  Sergeitch's  elbow  (Gav- 
ril  Stepanitch  wore  boots  without  heels  aRd  so 
moved  about  noiselessly)  ^nd  began  persuad- 
ing him  to  remain,  telltfig  him  that  at  supper 
there  would  be  some  first-rate  caviare;  but 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  refused,  saying  he  had  a 
headache.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was  lying  on 
329 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

a  small  bed  under  a  short  quilt,  trying  to  go  to 
sleep. 

But  he  could  not  sleep — though  he  tossed 
from  side  to  side,  though  he  tried  to  think  of 
something  else,  the  figure  of  Steltchinsky  per- 
sisted in  haunting  him.  .  .  .  Now  he  was  aim- 
ing. .  .  .  Now  he  was  firing.  .  .  .  "Astahov  is 
killed,"  someone  was  saying.  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  could  not  be  called  valiant  though  he  was 
not  a  coward,  either;  but  the  idea  of  fighting 
a  duel  with  anyone  had  never  entered  his  head. 
.  .  .  The  notion  of  fighting — with  his  good 
sense,  peaceable  disposition,  regard  for  propri- 
ety, dreams  of  future  prosperity  and  making 
a  good  marriage!  If  he  had  not  been  the  per- 
son concerned,  he  would  have  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, the  whole  business  struck  him  as  so  ludi- 
crous and  absurd.  To  fight !  And  with  whom 
and  for  what? 

"Damn  it  all!  What  nonsense!"  he  uncon- 
sciously exclaimed  aloud,  "well,  and  if  he  really 
does  kill  me,"  he  continued  his  meditations,  "I 
must  take  measures  anyway  and  make  arrange- 
ments. .  .  .  Will  anyone  regret  me?" 

And  with  vexation  he  closed  his  wide-open 
330 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

eyes,  drew  the  quilt  up  to  his  neck  .  .  .  but 
still  could  not  sleep. 

There  was  a  faint  flush  of  dawn  in  the  sky 
and,  worn  out  with  feverish  sleeplessness, 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  dropping  into  a  doze 
when  he  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  weight  on 
his  feet.  He  opened  his  eyes  .  ,  .  Veretyev 
was  sitting  on  his  bed. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  extremely  surprised, 
especially  when  he  noticed  that  Veretyev  had 
no  coat  on,  that  his  shirt  was  unbuttoned  and 
his  bare  chest  was  visible,  that  his  hair  was 
falling  over  his  forehead  and  that  his  face,  too, 
looked  changed,  and  Vladimir  Sergeitch  sat  up 
in  bed. 

"May  I  ask  .  .  ."  he  began  with  a  gesture 
of  surprise. 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,"  Veretyev  began  in 
a  hoarse  voice,  "in  this  condition,  excuse  me. 
.  .  .  We  had  a  little  drink  ...  I  wanted  to  re- 
assure you.  I  said  to  myself:  there's  a  gen- 
tleman in  bed  up  there  who  probably  can't  sleep 
— let  us  come  to  his  aid !  Take  note :  you  are 
not  going  to  fight  to-morrow  and  you  can 
sleep.  .  ,  ." 

331 


THE  TWO  FRIENBS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  more  surprised  than 
ever. 

"What  did  you  say  ?"  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  it  is  all  settled,"  Veretyev  went  on, 
"that  gentleman  from  the  shores  of  the  Vistula 
.  .  .  Steltchinsky  .  .  .  apologises  to  you  .  .  . 
you  will  get  a  letter  from  him  to-morrow  .  .  . 
I  tell  you  again,  it's  all  over.  .  .  .  You  can' 
snore !" 

And'  saying  this,  Veretyev  got  up  and  made 
unsteadily  for  the  door. 

"But  excuse  me,  excuse  me,"  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  began,  "how  did  you  find  out,  and  how 
can  I  believe  .  .  ." 

"Ah!  You  think  that  I  am  .  .  .  h'm!  (and 
he  gave  a  slight  lurch  forward).  I  tell  you 
...  he  will  send  you  a  letter  to-morrow.  .  .  . 
You  don't  attract  me  particularly  but  generosity 
is  my  weak  point.  And  what's  the  good  of 
talking?  .  .  .  It's  all  such  nonsense.  .  .  .  But 
confess,"  he  added  with  a  wink,  "you  were  a 
little  scared,  weren't  you?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  angry. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  all  right,  all  right,"  Veretyev  interrupted 
332 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

with  a  good-natured  smile.  "Don't  get  excited. 
You  don't  know  that  we  never  have  a  ball  with- 
out an  incident  of  this  sort.  .  .  .  It's  the  regu- 
lar thing.  It  never  leads  to  anything.  As 
though  anyone  wants  to  make  a  target  of  him- 
self!  But  why  not  show  off  a  bit — to  a  new- 
comer, for  instance?  In  vino  Veritas.  Though 
neither  you  nor  I  know  Latin.  But  I  see  from 
your  appearance  that  you  are  sleepy.  I  wish 
you  a  good-night,  you  practical  person  and 
well-intentioned  mortal.  Accept  that  wish 
from  another  mortal  who  is  not  worth  a  half- 
penny.    Addio,  mio  carol" 

And  Veretyev  went  away. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  meaning  of  it?"  ex- 
claimed Vladimir  Sergeitch  a  little  later,  and 
he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  pillow.  "It's 
beyond  everything!  ...  It  must  be  explained! 
I  won't  put  up  with  it !" 

For  all  that,  five  minutes  later  he  was  in  a 
quiet,  sound  sleep.  His  heart  was  lighter.  .  .  . 
A  danger  passed  softens  and  fills  with  sweetness 
the  heart  of  man. 

This  is  what  had  happened  before  Veretyev's 
333 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

sudden  interview  with  Vladimir  Sergeitch  in 
the  night. 

Gavril  Stepanitch  had  a  second  cousin,  a 
bachelor,  living  in  his  house.  When  there  were 
balls  young  men  would  run  down  to  his  room 
on  the  ground  floor  to  smoke  in  the  intervals 
between  the  dances,  and  after  supper  they  as- 
sembled there  for  a  friendly  drink.  On  that 
night  a  good  many  guests  had  gathered  together 
in  his  room.  Steltchinsky  and  Veretyev  were 
among  them;  Ivan  Ilyitch,  the  Adjustable  Soul, 
had  strolled  down  there  also.  They  mixed 
punch.  Though  Ivan  Ilyitch  had  promised 
Astahov  to  say  nothing  about  the  approaching 
duel,  yet  when  Veretyev  casually  asked  him 
what  he  had  been  talking  about  to  that  muff 
(Veretyev  always  spoke  of  Astahov  in  this 
way),  the  Adjustable  Soul  could  not  refrain 
from  repeating  his  conversation  with  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  word  for  word. 

Veretyev  laughed,  then  grew   thoughtful. 

"But  whom  is  he  fighting  with?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  that  I  can't  tell  you,"  answered  Ivan 
Ilyitch. 

"Whom  was  he  talking  to,  anyway?" 
334 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"With  different  people  .  .  .  Yegor  Kapiton- 
itch — surely  he  is  not  fighting  with  him?" 

Veretyev  walked  away  from  Ivan  Ilyitch. 

And  so  the  punch  was  made  and  they  began 
drinking  it.  Veretyev  was  sitting  in  the  most 
conspicuous  place;  gay  and  reckless,  he  took 
the  lead  in  all  young  men's  parties.  He  flung 
off  his  coat  and  cravat.  He  was  asked  to  sing ; 
he  took  the  guitar  and  sang  several  songs.  The 
wine  began  to  go  to  their  heads ;  the  young  men 
began  drinking  toasts.  Steltchinsky,  with  a 
flushed  face,  suddenly  leaped  onto  the  table  and, 
holding  his  glass  high  above  his  head,  cried 
aloud : 

"To  the  health  of — I  know  whom,"  he  added 
hurriedly;  he  drank  off  the  wine,  dashed  the 
glass  to  the  floor  and  went  on:  "May  my 
enemy  be  smashed  to  fragments  like  this  to- 
morrow !" 

Veretyev,  who  had  been  watching  him  for 
some  time,  raised  his  head  quickly. 

"Steltchinsky,"  he  said,  "to  begin  with,  get 
off   that    table, — it's    unseemly;   besides,   your 
boots  are  nothing  to  boast  of.     And  then  come 
here ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 
335 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

He  drew  him  aside. 

"Listen,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "I  know  you 
are  going  to  fight  to-morrow  with  that  Peters- 
burg gentleman." 

Steltchinsky  started. 

"How  .  .  .  who  told  you?" 

"I  tell  you.  And  I  know  whom  you  are 
fighting  about,  too." 

"Who  is  it?  It  would  be  interesting  to 
know  that." 

"Oh,  what  a  Talleyrand!  Why,  about  my 
sister,  of  course.  Come,  come,  don't  pretend 
to  be  surprised.  It  makes  you  look  like  a 
goose.  I  can't  imagine  how  it  came  about,  but 
I  know  it  is  so.  Come,  my  boy,"  Veretyev 
went  on,  "what's  the  use  of  pretending?  I 
know  you've  been  paying  her  attention  for  a 
long  time." 

"But  that  proves  nothing." 

"Leave  off,  please.  But  listen  to  what  I  am 
going  to  say  to  you.  I  won't  allow  this  duel 
on  any  account.  Do  you  understand  that? 
All  this  folly  will  recoil  on  my  sister.  Ex- 
cuse me,  but  as  long  as  I  am  alive  ...  I  will 
not  allow  it.  If  you  and  I  go  to  ruin,  that's 
336 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

what  we  deserve,  but  she  ought  to  have  a  long 
life  and  a  happy  one.  Yes,  I  swear,"  he  added 
with  sudden  heat,  "I  would  betray  everyone 
else,  even  those  who  are  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything  for  me,  but  I  won't  let  anyone  touch 
her." 

Steltchinsky  gave  a  forced  laugh. 

"You  are  drunk,  my  dear  fellow,  and  rav- 
ing ..  .  that's  all." 

"And  aren't  you?  But  whether  I  am  drunk 
or  not  does  not  matter.  I  am  talking  sense. 
You  will  not  fight  with  that  gentleman,  that 
I  can  guarantee.  What  possessed  you  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  him?  Were  you  jealous,  or 
what?  How  true  it  is  that  people  are  fools 
when  they  are  in  love !  Why,  she  only  danced 
with  him  to  prevent  him  from  asking.  .  .  . 
But  that's  not  the  point.  The  duel  will  not 
come  off." 

"H'm!  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  are 
going  to  prevent  me?" 

"Why,  like  this — if  you  won't  promise  this 
minute  to  give  up  this  duel,  I  will  fight  you 
myself." 

"Indeed?" 

337 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"My  dear  fellow,  don't  doubt  it.  I  will  in- 
sult you  in  the  most  original  way  imaginable 
before  everyone  this  minute  and  then  we  will 
fight  across  a  handkerchief  if  you  like.  But  I 
imagine  this  would  not  be  to  your  hking  for 
several  reasons,  would  it?" 

Steltchinsky  fired  up,  began  to  say  that  this 
was  intimidation,  that  he  would  allow  no  one 
to  interfere  in  his  private  affairs,  that  he  should 
consider  nothing  .  .  .  and  ended  by  giving 
way  and  renouncing  all  attempts  on  the  life  of 
Vladimir  Sergeitch.  Veretyev  embraced  him 
and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  they  were  for 
the  tenth  time  drinking  BruderscJiaft ;  that  is, 
drinking  with  arms  interlocked.  .  .  .  The 
young  leader  of  the  dance  drank  Briiderschaft 
with  them,  too,  and  at  first  kept  pace  with  them 
but  at  last  fell  asleep  in  the  most  innocent  way 
and  lay  for  a  long  time  on  his  back  in  a  con- 
dition of  complete  unconsciousness.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  little  pale  face  was  both 
pathetic  and  amusing,  .  .  .  Good  heavens, 
what  would  the  society  ladies  of  his  ac- 
quaintance have  said,  if  they  had  seen  him  in 
338 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

such  a  sorry  plight!     But  fortunately  he  did 
not  know  any  society  ladies. 

Ivan  Ilyitch,  too,  distinguished  himself  that 
night.  To  begin  with,  he  astonished  the  assem- 
bled gentlemen  by  suddenly  striking  up : 

"Once   upon   a    time    a    baron  .  .  ." 

"The  hawfinch!  The  hawfinch  is  singing!" 
they  all  shouted.  "The  hawfinch  never  sings 
at  night!" 

"As  though  I  only  knew  one  song !"  retorted 
Ivan  Ilyitch,  excited  by  the  wine.  "I  know 
others,  too." 

"All  right,  show  us  your  talents!" 

Ivan  Ilyitch  was  silent  for  a  space  and  then 
began  in  a  bass  voice — "Krambambuli,  the 
home  of  my  fathers,"  but  so  queerly  and  out 
of  tune  that  a  general  shout  of  laughter 
drowned  his  voice  and  he  subsided. 

When  the  party  broke  up,  Veretyev  went  to 
see  Vladimir  Sergeitch  and  the  brief  conversa- 
tion we  have  described  already  took  place  be- 
tween them. 

Very  early  the  next  day  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
set  off  for  Sasovo.  He  spent  the  whole  mom- 
339 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

ing  in  agitation,  almost  mistook  a  merchant 
who  called  on  him  for  a  second,  and  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief  when  the  footman  brought  him 
a  letter  from  Steltchinsky,  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  read  the  letter  through  several  times — it 
was  very  cleverly  written.  Steltchinsky  began 
with  the  words  la  nuit  porte  conseil,  Monsieur 
— and  did  not  apologise,  since  in  his  opinion 
he  had  not  insulted  his  opponent  in  any  way; 
at  the  same  time  he  acknowledged  that  he  had 
been  too  hasty  the  evening  before  and  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  he  was  completely  at  the 
service  de  M-r  Astakhof,  but  for  himself  no 
longer  desired  satisfaction.  After  writing  and 
dispatching  a  reply  filled  with  a  courtesy  that 
almost  approached  mockery  and  a  feeling  of 
dignity  which  did  not,  however,  show  a  trace 
of  boastfulness,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  sat  down 
to  his  dinner  rubbing  his  hands,  ate  it  with  great 
relish,  and  immediately  after  it  set  off  to  his 
own  home,  without  having  even  sent  a  change 
of  horses  in  advance.  The  road  by  which  he 
drove  lay  within  three  miles  of  Ipatov's  house. 
.  .  .  Vladimir  Sergeitch  gazed  at  it. 

"Farewell,    quiet   backwater!"   he    muttered 
340 


'    A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

ironically.  The  figures  of  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna  and  Marya  Pavlovna  flitted  for  a  mo- 
ment before  his  imagination;  he  waved  them 
off,  turned  away  and  fell  into  a  doze. 


341 


CHAPTER  VI 

Over  three  months  passed.  The  autumn  was 
far  advanced;  the  yellow  woods  were  losing 
their  last  leaves,  the  blue-tits  had  arrived  and, 
sure  sign  of  the  approach  of  winter,  the  wind 
was  beginning  to  groan  and  howl.  But  there 
had  not  yet  been  much  rain,  and  the  mud  on 
the  roads  was  not  yet  very  sloppy.  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  took  advantage  of  this  circumstance 
to  visit  the  chief  town  of  the  province  in  or- 
der to  conclude  some  business  transactions. 
He  spent  the  morning  driving  from  one  place 
to  another,  and  in  the  evening  went  to  the 
club.  He  met  several  acquaintances  in  the  big, 
gloomy  clubroom,  among  them  an  old  retired 
cavalry  officer,  Flitch,  whom  everyone  knew  as 
a  capable  business  man,  a  wit,  a  cardplayer 
and  a  gossip.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  got  into  con- 
versation with  him. 

"Oh,   by   the   way,"    Flitch    exclaimed   sud- 
342 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

denly,  "a  lady  you  know  was  passing  through 
the  town  the  other  day  and  she  sent  you  her 
greetings." 

"What  lady?" 

"Madame  Steltchinsky." 

"I  don't  know  any  Madame  Steltchinsky." 

"You  knew  her  before  she  was  married.  .  .  . 
Her  maiden  name  was  Veretyev  .  .  .  Nad- 
yezhda  Alexyevna.  Her  husband  was  in  our 
Governor's  service.  You  must  have  seen  him, 
too.  ...  A  lively  fellow,  with  a  little  mous- 
tache. He  has  hooked  an  attractive  little  party, 
and  with  money,  too." 

"You  don't  say  so !"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 
"So  she  has  married  him.  .  .  .  H'm!  And 
where  was  she  going?" 

"To  Petersburg.  She  told  me  to  remind  you 
about  some  motto.  .  .  .  What  was  it,  if  I  may 
be  so  inquisitive?" 

And  the  old  gossip's  sharp  nose  looked  alert 
with  expectation. 

"I  don't  remember,  really,  some  joke,"  re- 
plied Vladimir  Sergeitch.  "And  where  is  her 
brother,  may  I  ask?" 

"Pyotr?     Oh,  he  is  in  a  bad  way." 
343 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

Mr.  Flitch  turned  up  his  fox-Hke  Httle  eyes 
and  heaved  a  sigh, 

"How  so?"  asked  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"He's  gone  to  the  dogs !  He  is  on  the  road 
to  ruin." 

"Where  is  he  now,  then  ?" 

"Nobody  knows.  He  is  gone  off  after  some 
gipsy  girls,  that's  the  most  likely  story.  He 
is  not  in  the  province,  that  I  can  answer  for," 

"And  old  Ipatov,  is  he  still  living  there?" 

"Mihail  Nikolaitch?  The  queer  little  chap, 
you  mean?     He  is  still  there," 

"And  is  everyone  in  his  house  ...  as  be- 
fore?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure.  How  would  it  be  for  you 
to  marry  his  sister-in-law?  She  is  a  regular 
piece  of  antique  sculpture,  isn't  she?  He-he! 
People  did  say,  you  know  .  .  ." 

"Really,"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  screwing 
up  his  eyelids. 

At  that  moment  Flitch  was  invited  to  a  game 
of  cards  and  the  conversation  dropped. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  had  intended  to  return 
home  quickly  but  a  messenger  arrived  from  the 
village  elder  at  Sasovo  telling  him  that  six 
344 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

peasant  homesteads  had  been  burnt  to  the 
ground,  and  he  decided  to  go  down  himself. 
It  was  reckoned  about  forty  miles  from  the 
town  to  Sasovo.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  reached 
that  evening  the  little  lodge  with  which  the 
reader  is  already  familiar,  at  once  summoned 
the  village  elder  and  the  rural  clerk,  duly  up- 
braided them,  went  in  the  morning  to  inspect 
the  scene  of  the  fire,  directed  that  various  steps 
should  be  taken,  and  when  he  had  dined,  de- 
cided, after  a  brief  hesitation,  to  pay  a  call  on 
Ipatov.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  would  have  stayed 
at  home  if  he  had  not  heard  from  Flitch  that 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  had  left  the  neighbour- 
hood. He  did  not  want  to  meet  her  again; 
but  he  felt  no  disinclination  to  have  another 
look  at  Marya  Pavlovna. 

As  on  his  first  visit,  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
found  Ipatov  playing  draughts  with  the  Ad- 
justable Soul.  The  old  man  was  delighted  to 
see  him;  Vladimir  Sergeitch  fancied,  however, 
that  his  face  was  careworn,  and  his  words  did 
not  flow  with  the  same  readiness  as  of  old. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  exchanged  silent  glances 
345 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

with  Ivan  Ilyitch.     They  both  felt  a  twinge  of 
discomfort;  but  they  soon  got  over  it. 

"Are  all  your  household  well?"  inquired 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  as  he  sat  down. 

"They  are  all  quite  well,  thank  you,"  an- 
swered Ipatov.  "Only  Marya  Pavlovna  is  not 
quite  the  thing  .  .  .  she  keeps  to  her  room  for 
the  most  part  now." 

"Has  she  got  a  cold?" 

"No  .  .  .  not  exactly.  She  will  come  in  to 
tea." 

"And  Yegor  Kapitonitch?  How  is  he  get- 
ting on?" 

"Ah,  it  is  all  over  with  Yegor  Kapitonitch. 
His  wife  is  dead." 

"Impossible!" 

"She  died  after  twenty-four  hours'  illness 
of  cholera.  You  wouldn't  know  him  now,  he 
is  not  like  himself.  'Without  Matryona  Mark- 
ovna  life  is  a  burden  to  me.  I  shall  die,'  he 
says,  'and  thank  God;  I  don't  care  to  live,'  he 
says.     Yes,  the  poor  fellow  is  quite  lost." 

"Oh,  dear,  how  unfortunate !"  cried  Vladimir 
Sergeitch.     "Poor  Yegor  Kapitonitch!" 

Everyone  was  silent  for  a  space. 
346 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"I  hear  your  neighbour  is  married,"  said 
Vladimir  Sergeitch,  flushing  slightly. 

"Nadyezhda  Alexyevna?  Yes,  she  is  mar- 
ried." Ipatov  stole  a  side-long  glance  at 
Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes,  she  is  married  and  gone 
away." 

"To  Petersburg?" 

"To  Petersburg." 

"I  expect  Marya  Pavlovna  misses  her?  I 
think  they  were  great  friends." 

"Of  course  she  misses  her.  That  can't  be 
helped.  Though  as  for  her  friendship,  I  can 
assure  you  young  ladies'  friendship  is  worse 
than  men's.  It's  all  right  while  they  are  to- 
gether, but  out  of  sight  is  out  of  mind." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Take  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna, 
for  instance.  We  have  not  had  one  letter  from 
her  since  she  went  away,  and  the  promises  she 
made,  the  vows!  No  doubt  she  has  other 
things  to  think  of  now." 

"Ha3  she  been  gone  long?" 

"It  must  be  six  weeks.     She  galloped  off  the 
day  after  the  wedding,  in  foreign  style." 
347 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"They  say  her  brother  is  not  here,  either?" 
said  Vladimir  Sergeitch  a  little  later. 

"Yes,  he  is  gone,  too.  You  see,  they  are  city 
people;  they  are  not  likely  to  stay  long  in  the 
country  I" 

"And  don't  you  know  where  he  has  gone?" 

"No." 

"He  is  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow," 
observed  Ivan  Ilyitch. 

"He  is  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,"  re- 
peated Ipatov.  "And  you,  Vladimir  Sergeitch, 
what  good  news  is  there  of  you?"  he  added, 
turning  round  in  his  chair. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  began  telling  about  him- 
self. Ipatov  listened — listened  and  exclaimed 
at  last: 

"But  why  doesn't  Masha  come?  Ivan  Ily- 
itch, you  might  go  and  fetch  her." 

Ivan  Ilyitch  went  out  of  the  room  and  re- 
turning, announced  that  Marya  Pavlovna  was 
just  coming. 

"Has  she  a  headache?"  Ipatov  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ivan  Ilyitch. 

The  door  opened  and  Marya  Pavlovna  came 
348 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

in.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  got  up,  bowed  and  was 
so  amazed  that  he  could  not  utter  a  word :  so 
changed  was  Marya  Pavlovna  since  he  had 
seen  her  last!  All  the  colour  had  gone  from 
her  wan  cheeks ;  there  were  wide,  dark  rings 
round  her  eyes ;  there  was  a  look  of  grief  about 
her  tightly  set  lips ;  her  whole  face,  dark  and 
immovable,  seemed  turned  to  stone. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  there  was  no  light 
in  them. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  Ipatov  asked  her. 

"I  am  quite  well,"  she  answered,  and  sat 
down  to  the  table  on  which  a  samovar  was  al- 
ready boiling. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  was  pretty  thoroughly 
bored  that  evening;  and  indeed  everyone  was 
depressed.  The  conversation  was  continually 
taking  a  melancholy  turn. 

"Hark,  what  a  tune  it's  playing !"  Ipatov  said, 
among  other  things,  listening  to  the  howling 
of  the  wind.  "Summer  has  long  past;  the 
autumn  is  passing,  too,  and  winter  is  upon  us. 
The  snowdrifts  will  lie  about  us  again.  If 
only  the  snow  would  come  soon !  As  it  is,  it 
makes  one  depressed  to  go  into  the  garden. 
349 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

.  .  .  It's  a  perfect  ruin.     The  branches  creak 
and  rattle.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  fine  days  are  over!" 

"They  are  over,"  repeated  Ivan  Ilyitch. 

Marya  Pavlovna  looked  out  of  the  window 
in   silence. 

"Please  God,  they  will  come  back,"  observed 
Ipatov. 

No  one  answered  him. 

"Do  you  remember  the  delightful  singing  we 
had  here?"  said  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

"Yes,  those  were  pleasant  times !" 

"But  you  might  sing,"  said  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch,  turning  to  Marya  Pavlovna;  "you  have 
such  a  splendid  voice." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"And  how  is  your  mother?"  said  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  to  Ipatov,  not  knowing  how  to  keep 
up  the  conversation. 

"Thank  God,  she  keeps  pretty  middling  in 
spite  of  her  infirmities.  To-day  she  went  out 
in  her  chair  and  I  tell  you  she  is  like  an  old 
broken  tree — it  creaks  and  creaks ;  and  yet  some 
strong  young  sapling  will  fall,  and  it  will  go 
on  standing.  Ech,  ech!" 
350 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Marya  Pavlovna  dropped  her  hands  on  her 
knees  and  bowed  her  head. 

"And  yet  she  has  a  bad  time  of  it,"  Ipatov 
said  again;  "it's  a  true  saying  that  old  age  is 
no  happiness." 

"Youth  isn't  happiness,  either,"  said  Marya 
Pavlovna  as  though  to  herself. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  wanted  to  go  home  that 
evening  but  it  was  such  a  dark  night  that  he 
did  not  venture  to  go.  He  was  given  the  same 
upstairs  room  in  which  three  months  before  he 
had  spent  a  troubled  night — owing  to  Yegor 
Kapitonitch. 

"I  wonder  whether  he  still  snores?"  thought 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  and  remembered  his  ad- 
monitions to  his  servant;  he  recalled  Marya 
Pavlovna's  sudden  appearance  in  the  gar- 
den. .  .  . 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  went  to  the  window  and 
put  his  head  against  the  cold  pane.  His  own 
face  looked  in  at  him  dimly  from  without ;  his 
eyes  seemed  up  against  a  curtain  of  darkness 
and  only  after  a  little  time  could  he  distinguish 
against  the  starless  sky  the  branches  of  trees 
351 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

twisting  convulsively  in  the  black  night.  They 
were  being  lashed  by  the  relentless  wind. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
as  though  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  something 
white  on  the  ground.  .  .  ,  He  looked,  smiled, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and,  exclaiming  half 
aloud,  "The  tricks  imagination  will  play  one !" 
got  into  bed. 

He  fell  asleep  very  quickly  but  he  was  not 
fated  to  spend  a  peaceful  night  on  this  occa- 
sion either.  He  was  roused  by  a  hurrying  to 
and  fro  in  the  house.  He  lifted  up  his  head 
from  the  pillow.  .  .  .  He  heard  agitated  voices, 
exclamations,  scurrying  footsteps,  the  banging 
of  doors ;  then  there  was  a  sound  of  women's 
weeping,  shouts  were  heard  in  the  garden,  other 
shouts  answered  them  in  the  distance.  .  .  .  The 
agitation  in  the  house  increased,  and  grew 
noisier  every  moment.  .  ,  .  "There  must  be  a 
fire !"  flashed  through  Vladimir  Sergeitch's 
mind.  In  alarm  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and 
ran  to  the  window,  but  there  was  no  glow  of 
fire;  only  red  points  of  light  were  moving  rap- 
idly along  the  garden  paths  between  the  trees 
— men  were  running  with  lanterns.  Vladimir 
352 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

Sergeitch  went  quickly  to  the  door,  opened  it 
and  ran  straight  into  Ivan  Ilyitch.  Pale,  dis- 
hevelled and  half-dressed,  the  latter  was  rush- 
ing along  without  knowing  where  he  was  going. 

"What  is  it?  What  has  happened?"  asked 
Vladimir  Sergeitch  in  excitement,  clutching  vig- 
orously at  his  arm. 

"She  is  lost,  she  is  drowned,  she  has  thrown 
herself  into  the  water,"  Ivan  Ilyitch  responded 
in  a  breathless  voice. 

"Who  is  in  the  water,  who  is  lost?" 

"Marya  Pavlovna !  Who  else  could  it  be? 
He  has  been  the  death  of  her,  poor  darling! 
Help!  Run,  good  people,  make  haste!  Make 
haste,  lads !" 

And  Ivan  Ilyitch  dashed  down  the  stairs. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  got  into  his  boots,  flung 
his  greatcoat  over  his  shoulders  and  ran  after 
him. 

He  found  no  one  in  the  house,  they  had  all 
rushed  into  the  garden ;  only  the  little  girls, 
Ipatov's  daughters,  met  him  in  the  passage  close 
to  the  front  door;  half  dead  with  fright  they 
were  standing  in  their  white  petticoats  with 
clasped  hands  and  bare  feet,  near  a  night- 
353 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

light  on  the  ground.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  ran 
through  the  drawing-room,  passing  an  over- 
turned table,  on  to  the  verandah.  Through  the 
shrubbery,  in  the  direction  of  the  dam,  lights 
were  gleaming  and  shadows  were  fleeting.  .  .  . 

"The  hooks !  Run  for  the  hooks !"  he  heard 
the  voice  of  Ipatov. 

"The  net,  the  net !  The  boat  \"  cried  other 
voices. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  ran  towards  the  shouts. 
He  found  Ipatov  on  the  bank  of  the  pond;  a 
lantern  hung  on  a  branch  threw  a  vivid  light  on 
the  old  man's  grey  head.  He  was  wringing 
his  hands  and  staggering  as  though  he  were 
drunk;  on  the  grass  near  him  a  woman  was 
writhing  and  sobbing;  people  were  running  to 
and  fro.  Ivan  Ilyitch  was  already  up  to  his 
knees  in  the  water  and  feeling  the  depth  with 
a  pole ;  the  coachman  was  undressing,  shivering 
all  over;  two  men  were  dragging  a  boat  along 
the  bank ;  the  rapid  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  could 
be  heard  along  the  village  street.  .  .  .  The  wind 
blew,  shrieking,  as  though  doing  its  utmost  to 
put  out  the  lanterns.  The  waters  of  the  black 
and  menacing  pond  splashed  noisily  on  the  bank. 
354 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"What  do  I  hear !"  cried  Vladimir  Sergeitch, 
running  up  to  Ipatov,     "Is  it  possible  ?" 

"The  hooks!  Quick,  the  hooks!"  moaned 
the  old  man  in  reply. 

"But  perhaps  you  are  mistaken,  Mihail  Niko- 
laitch !" 

"No,  how  can  it  be  a  mistake!"  the  woman 
lying  on  the  grass — Marya  Pavlovna's  maid — 
said  in  a  tearful  voice,  "wretch  that  I  am,  I 
heard  her  myself  jump  into  the  water,  cry 
out,  'Save  me,'  and  then  once  more,  'Save 
me' !" 

"How  was  it  you  did  not  prevent  her?" 

"How  could  I  prevent  her,  sir?  Why,  by 
the  time  I  missed  her  she  was  gone,  but  I  must 
have  had  a  foreboding  in  my  heart;  the  last 
few  days  she  has  been  in  such  grief  and  did 
not  say  a  word ;  but  I  knew  and  I  ran  straight 
into  the  garden,  as  though  someone  had  told 
me.  All  at  once  I  heard  something  go  plop  into 
the  water :  'Save  me,'  I  heard  her  cry  .  .  .  'save 
me!'  .  .  .  Oh,  dear,  kind  people!" 

"But  perhaps  it  was  your  fancy?" 

"My  fancy,  indeed !    And  where  is  she,  then?. 
What  has  become  of  her?" 
355 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"So  that  was  the  white  thing  I  thought  I  saw 
in  the  darkness,"  thought  Vladimir  Sergeitch. 

Meanwhile  men  had  run  up  with  hooks, 
brought  a  net  and  begun  laying  it  out  on  the 
grass,  numbers  of  people  came  up,  there  was 
a  great  running  to  and  fro  .  .  .  the  coachman 
snatched  up  a  hook,  the  village  elder  another ; 
they  both  jumped  into  the  boat,  pushed  off  and 
began  dragging  the  water  with  the  hooks;  they 
were  lighted  from  the  bank.  Their  movements 
and  their  shadows  seemed  strange  and  terrible 
in  the  darkness,  on  the  troubled  water  in  tlie 
dim  and  uncertain  light  of  the  lantern. 

"It's  caught,"  the  coachman  cried  suddenly 

Everyone  stood  faint  with  expertation. 

"A  stump,"  said  the  coachman,  and  pulled 
out  the  hook. 

"Come  back,  come  back,"  they  shouted  from 
the  bank,  "you  will  do  nothing  with  the  hooks, 
you  want  the  net," 

"Yes,  yes,  the  net,"  others  chimed  in. 

"Stay,"  cried  the  village  elder,  "my  hook  has 
caught  too.  ...  I  think  it's  something  soft,"  he 
added  a  little  later. 

356 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

A  patch  of  white  came  into  sight  near  the  boat. 

"The  young  lady !"  cried  the  village  elder — • 
"It's  she!"  He  was  right  .  .  .  the  hook  had 
caught  Marya  Pavlovna  by  the  sleeve  of  her 
dress.  The  coachman  got  hold  of  her  at  once, 
they  drew  her  out  of  the  water  .  .  .  with  two 
strong  strokes  the  boat  was  brought  to  the 
bank.  .  .  .  Ipatov,  Ivan  Ilyitch,  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  all  rushed  to  Marya  Pavlovna,  lifted  her 
up  and  carried  her  home  in  their  arms.  They 
undressed  her,  warmed  her  and  tried  to  restore 
respiration.  .  .  ,  But  all  their  efforts  were  in 
vain.  Marya  Pavlovna  did  not  come  to  her- 
self. .  .  .  Life  had  fled. 

Next  morning  early  Vladimir  Sergeitch  left 
Ipatovka;  before  he  set  off  he  went  to  take  the 
last  farewell  of  the  dead  girl.  She  was  lying 
on  the  table  in  the  drawing-room  in  a  white 
dress.  Her  thick  hair  was  hardly  dry,  there 
was  a  look  of  sorrowful  bewilderment  on  her 
pale  face  which  was  still  unchanged ;  her  parted 
lips  seemed  striving  to  speak  and  ask  some 
question  .  .  .  her  crossed  arms  seemed  pressing 
on  her  bosom  as  though  in  anguish.  .  .  .  But 
with  whatever  bitter  thoughts  the  poor  girl  had 
357 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

perished,  death  had  laid  upon  her  its  imprint 
of  eternal  silence  and  resignation.  .  .  .  And 
who  can  say  what  the  dead  face  expresses  in 
those  few  moments  when  for  the  last  time  it 
meets  the  eyes  of  the  living  before  vanishing 
forever  and  perishing  in  the  grave? 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  stood  in  decorous  melan- 
choly before  the  body  of  Marya  Pavlovna, 
crossed  himself  three  times  and  went  out  with- 
out noticing  Ivan  Ilyitch,  who  was  quietly  weep- 
ing in  the  corner.  .  .  .  And  he  was  not  the 
only  one  who  wept  that  day,  all  the  servants  in 
the  house  wept  bitterly:  nothing  but  good  was 
remembered  of  Marya  Pavlovna. 

A  week  later  old  Ipatov  wrote  as  follows  in 
reply  to  a  letter  that  had  come  at  last  from 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna: 

"A  week  ago,  dear  Madam  Nadyezhda  Alex- 
yevna, my  sister-in-law,  your  friend  Marya 
Pavlovna,  made  an  end  of  her  life  by  throwing 
herself  at  night  into  the  pond  and  we  have  al- 
ready consigned  her  body  to  the  earth.  She 
took  this  grievous  and  terrible  step  without 
saying  good-bye  to  me,  without  leaving  a  letter 
358 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

or  the  smallest  note  to  convey  her  last  wishes. 
.  .  .  But  you  know  better  than  anyone,  Nad- 
yezhda  Alexyevna,  on  whose  soul  this  great  and 
mortal  sin  should  fall !  May  the  Lord  be  your 
brother's  judge,  but  my  sister-in-law  could 
neither  forget  him  nor  survive  the  separation." 

By  the  time  Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  received 
this  letter  she  was  in  Italy,  where  she  had  gone 
with  her  husband,  Count  de  Steltchinsky,  as  he 
was  styled  in  all  the  hotels.  It  was  not  only 
tho  hotels  he  visited,  however:  he  was  fre- 
quently seen  in  gambling  saloons,  in  the  Kur- 
saals  in  watering  places.  ...  At  first  he  lost  a 
great  deal  of  money,  then  left  off  losing,  and 
his  face  assumed  the  peculiar  expression,  half 
suspicious,  half  impudent,  which  is  seen  in  a 
man  liable  to  being  suddenly  involved  in  some 
unpleasant  affray.  .  .  .  He  rarely  saw  his  wife. 
Nadyezhda  Alexyevna  was  not  dull  in  his  ab- 
sence, however.  She  developed  a  taste  for  the 
arts.  Her  acquaintances  chiefly  consisted  of 
artists  and  she  liked  discussing  the  beautiful 
with  young  men.  Ipatov's  letter  grieved  her 
extremely  but  did  not  prevent  her  from  going 

359 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

the  same  day  to  the  "Cave  of  Dogs"  to  watch 
unfortunate  animals  gasp  for  bre?ith'  as  they 
were  pkmged  into  sulphurous  fumes. 

She  did  ngt  go  alone.  She  was  accompanied 
by  several  admirers.  Among  them  the  most 
amiable  was  considered  to  be  Mr.  Popelin,  an 
unsuccessful  French  painter  with  a  beard  dnd 
a  check  jacket.  He  sang  the  newest  songs  in 
a  thin  tenor,  made  jokes  in  a  very  free-and- 
easy  style  and  ate  a  very  great  deal  though  he 
was  very  lean. 


360 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  a  sunny,  frosty  day  in  January;  num- 
bers of  people  were  walking  along  the  Nevsky. 
The  clock  on  the  tower  of  the  Town  Hall  struck 
three.  Our  old  acquaintance  Vladimir  Sergeitch 
Astahov  was  walking  among  others  on  the 
broad  flags  sprinkled  with  yellow  sand.  He 
had  grown  much  more  manly  looking  since  we 
parted  from  him ;  he  had  grown  whiskers  and 
was  stouter  all  over  but  did  not  look  older. 
He  followed  the  crowd  without  haste,  from 
time  to  time  looking  about  him :  he  was  ex- 
pecting his  wife;  she  had  meant  to  drive  up  in 
their  carriage  with  her  mother.  It  was  about 
five  years  since  Vladimir  Sergeitch  had  mar- 
ried, exactly  as  he  wished ;  his  wife  was  wealthy 
and  with  the  best  connections.  Affably  lifting 
his  superbly  brushed  hat  as  he  met  his  numer- 
ous acquaintances,  Vladimir  Sergeitch  moved 
forward  with  the  free  step  of  a  man  satisfied 
361 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

with  his  lot.  All  at  once,  dose  to  the  Arcade, 
he  was  almost  run  into  by  a  man  in  a  Spanish 
cloak  and  a  jockey  cap;  his  face  was  rather  the 
worse  for  wear,  his  moustache  was  dyed  and 
his  big  eyes  looked  out  from  swollen  and  puffy 
eyelids.  Vladimir  Sergeitch  moved  aside  with 
dignity,  but  the  gentleman  in  the  cap  stared  at 
him  and  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Ah !  Mr.  Astahov,  how  are  you  ?" 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  made  no  reply  and  stood 
still  in  amazement.  He  could  not  imagine  how 
a  gentleman  who  had  the  temerky  to  appear 
on  the  Nevsky  in  a  jockey  cap  knew  his 
surname. 

"You  don't  recognise  me,"  the  gentleman  in 
the  cap  went  on ;  "I  saw  you  eight  years  ago 
in  the  country,  in  T.  province,  at  the  Ipatovs. 
My  name  is  Veretyev." 

"Oh,  dear !  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  exclaimed 
Vladimir  Sergeitch,  "but  how  you  have 
changed." 

"Yes,  I  am  older,"  answered  Pyotr  Alexe- 
itch,  and  he  passed  over  his  face  a  hand  with- 
out a  glove,  "but  you,  now,  have  not  changed." 

Veretyev  did  not  so  much  look  older  as 
362 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

fallen  off  and  deteriorated.  Tiny,  delicate 
wrinkles  covered  his  whole  face  and  when  he 
talked  his  lips  and  cheeks  twitched  slightly. 
Everything  about  him  indicated  that  he  had 
been  living  hard. 

"Where  have  you  been  lost  all  this  time  that 
one  has  seen  nothing  of  you?"  asked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch. 

"I  have  been  wandering  about.  And  have 
you  been  in  Petersburg  all  the  time?" 

"For  the  most  part  in  Petersburg," 

"Are  you  married?" 

"Yes." 

And  Vladimir  Sergeitch  assumed  a  rather 
severe  air  as  though  to  say  to  Veretyev,  "Don't 
venture  to  ask  me,  my  good  fellow,  to  introduce 
you  to  my  wife." 

Veretyev  seemed  to  understand  him.  A  care- 
less smile  faintly  stirred  his  lips. 

"And  how  is  your  sister?"  asked  Vladimir 
Sergeitch.     "Where  is  she?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  for  certain.  I  expect  she 
is  in  Moscow.  I  have  not  had  a  letter  from 
her  for  a  long  time." 

363 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

"And  is  her  husband  living?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Mr.  Ipatov  himself?" 

"I  don't  know ;  I  expect  he  is  alive  too ;  but 
he  may  be  dead." 

"And  that  other  gentleman — what  was  his 
name  ? — Bodryakov,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"The  one  you  asked  to  be  your  second,  do 
you  remember,  when  you  were  in  such  a  funk  ? 
The  devil  only  knows." 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  with  a  dignified  face  re- 
mained silent. 

"I  always  recall  with  pleasure  those  eve- 
nings," he  continued,  "when  I  had  the  oppor- 
tunity (he  had  almost  said  'honour')  of  mak- 
ing the  acquaintance  of  your  sister  and  your- 
self. She  is  a  very  charming  person.  Do  you 
still  sing  as  agreeably?" 

"No,  I've  lost  my  voice.  .  .  .  Yes,  that  was 
a  nice  time." 

"I  visited  Ipatovka  once  since,"  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  went  on,  raising  his  eyebrows  mourn- 
fully; "I  think  that  was  what  they  called  the 
village — on  the  very  day  of  a  terrible 
event.  .  .  ." 

364 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

"Yes,  yes,  that  was  horrible,  horrible,"  Veret- 
yev  hurriedly  interrupted  him.  "Yes,  yes — 
and  do  you  remember  how  you  almost  fought 
a  duel  with  my  present  brother-in-law?" 

"H'm!  Yes,  I  remember,"  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch  replied  deliberately.  "However,  I  must 
confess,  it  is  so  long  ago  that  it  all  seems  to  me 
rather  like  a  dream  now." 

"Like  a  dream,"  Veretyev  repeated,  and  his 
pale  cheeks  flushed — "like  a  dream  .  .  .  no,  it 
was  not  a  dream,  not  for  me,  anyway.  It  was 
the  time  of  youth,  of  gaiety,  of  happiness,  the 
time  of  boundless  hopes  and  unconquerable 
strength,  and  if  it  was  a  dream,  it  was  a  lovely 
dream.  But  that  we  have  grown  old  and 
stupid,  and  dye  our  moustache,  and  lounge 
about  the  Nevsky  and  are  good  for  nothing 
like  broken-down  hacks,  that  we  have  lost  our 
savour,  have  worn  threadbare,  whether  we  are 
stuck  up  and  dignified  or  whether  we  are  simply 
loafers,  and,  very  likely,  drown  our  sorrow  in 
wine — that  is  more  like  a  dream,  and  a  most 
hideous  dream.  Our  life  has  been  lived  and 
lived  in  vain,  absurdly,  vulgarly — that's  what 
365 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

is  bitter !  If  only  one  could  shake  that  off  like 
a  dream,  if  only  one  could  wake  up  from  that. 
.  .  .  And  then  everywhere,  always  one  awful 
memory,  one  phantom.  .  .  .  But  good-bye." 

Veretyev  moved  rapidly  away,  but  on  reach- 
ing the  doors  of  one  of  the  principal  cafes  of 
the  Nevsky  Prospect,  stopped,  went  in  and 
tossing  off  at  the  bar  a  glass  of  orange  bitters, 
he  crossed  the  billiard-room,  dark  and  foggy 
with  tobacco  fumes,  and  went  into  a  back  room. 
There  he  found  some  friends,  old  comrades: 
Petya  Lasurin,  Kostya  Kovrovsky,  Prince  Ser- 
dyukov  and  two  gentlemen  who  were  addressed 
simply  as  Vasyuk  and  Filat,  They  were  all 
men  no  longer  young,  though  unmarried;  some 
were  a  little  bald,  others  were  turning  grey, 
they  had  wrinkled  faces  and  double  chins;  in 
short,  these  gentlemen  had  all,  as  they  say,  be- 
gun going  to  seed.  They  all,  however,  still 
looked  upon  Veretyev  as  an  exceptional  man, 
destined  to  astonish  the  world,  and  he  was  more 
intelligent  only  in  that  he  was  very  well  aware 
of  his  complete  and  essential  uselessness.  And 
even  outside  his  own  circle  there  were  people 
366 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

who  thought  of  him  that  if  he  had  not  ruined 
himself,  something  very  remarkable  might  have 
come  of  him.  .  .  .  These  people  vi^ere  mistaken : 
nothing  ever  does  come  of  the  Veretyevs. 

Pyotr  Alexeitch's  friends  met  him  with  their 
usual  greetings.  He  puzzled  them  at  first  by 
his  gloomy  expression  and  bitter  remarks,  but 
he  soon  recovered,  grew  merry  and  things  went 
as  usual. 

As  soon  as  Veretyev  left  him,  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  frowned  and  drew  himself  up.  Pyotr 
Alexeitch's  sudden  outburst  had  greatly  per- 
plexed and  even  offended  him. 

"Grown  stupid,  drink,  dye  our  moustache 
.  .  .  paries  pour  vous,  mon  cher,"  he  said  at 
last  almost  aloud  and  snorting  once  or  twice 
with  involuntary  indignation,  was  about  to  con- 
tinue his  walk. 

"Who  was  that  talking  to  you?"  he  heard  a 
loud  and  self-confident  voice  behind  him. 

Vladimir  Sergeitch  turned  round  and  saw  one 

of   his   intimate   friends,   a   certain  'Mr.    Pom- 

ponsky.    This  Mr.  Pomponsky,  a  tall  and  stout 

gentleman,  held  a  rather  important  post  and 

367 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

had  never  once,  even  in  his  early  youth,  had 
the  sHghtest  doubt  of  his  own  efficiency. 

"Oh,  a  queer  fellow,"  said  Vladimir  Serge- 
itch,  taking  Pomponsky's  arm. 

"Upon  my  soul,  Vladimir  Sergeitch,  is  it  pos- 
sible for  a  gentleman  to  be  seen  talking  in  the 
street  to  an  individual  in  a  jockey  cap?  It's 
unseemly !  I  am  amazed !  Where  could  you 
have  made  the  acquaintance  of  such  a  person  ?" 

"In  the  country." 

"In  the  country?  .  .  .  Country  neighbours  are 
not  recognised  in  town  .  .  .  ce  n'est  pas  comme 
it  faut.  A  gentleman  must  always  behave  like 
a  gentleman  if  he  wants  .  .  ." 

"Here  is  my  wife,"  Vladimir  Sergeitch  made 
haste  to  interrupt  him.     "Let  us  go  to  her." 

And  the  two  gentlemen  made  their  way  to  a 
smart,  low  carriage,  from  the  window  of  which 
the  pale,  fatigued  and  irritably  haughty  face  of 
a  woman  still  young,  but  already  a  little  faded, 
was  looking  out. 

Another  lady  who  also  seemed  cross,  her 
mother,  could  be  seen  behind  her.  Vladimir 
Sergeitch  opened  the  carriage  door  and  gave  his 
368 


A  QUIET  BACKWATER 

wife  his  arm.  Pomponsky  approached  the 
mother-in-law  and  both  couples  walked  along 
the  Nevsky  accompanied  by  a  short,  black- 
haired  footnr.in  in  greenish  gaiters  with  a  big 
cockade  on  his  hat. 


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14  DAY  USE 


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LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2                       : 

3 

4 

5                          ^ 

b 

1-year  loans  may  be  rechargoil  bv  b,-,r.g.nq  !hft  ooc-.s  to  the  Circulation  n- 
Renewals  ar.d  recha.ges  may  t;e  a.at'e  4  ,iays  prior  ,o  d.^daVo 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

T16i984i    ( 

> 

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« 

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